An Affair for all Time
by Bubble Wrapped Kitty
Summary: AU. CIA Agent August Anderson never believed in magic. He fought beside his brothers in their missions and upheld the family honour. But all of that changed when a mysterious priestess named Annie Walker came into his life and brought with her an adventure to alter the very fabric of time and reality. HIATUS - not abandoned.
1. Introduction

AN: For those of you who hadn't seen this story when it first popped up, or have forgotten since it was so long ago, this story is a vague crossover between Covert Affairs and Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time. It uses the general storyline of PoP, but takes place in the CA-verse and uses the characters. As such, it is massively AU. Like, _**massively**._ Keep that in mind going in.

Disclaimer: I don't own Covert Affairs or Prince of Persia. I wish I owned Auggie, but that's a completely different story.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Introduction<span>**

Since its days as a host of colonies shaking off the mantle of oppression, America has been a strong presence in the world. The power of the country rests in its people; those who give their hearts to defend and protect it. Among these defenders, the most elite are the silent soldiers, those whose acts of patriotism and bravery are carried out secretly and are easily the most dangerous. The government's private army: the CIA.

The Centre of Intelligence Agency is a government branch devoted to protecting America from threats, both from outside and from within. Their agents are the most skilled; the strongest, the fastest, and the smartest. And even within the agency, there are those whose skills are the highest, and they are the Anderson family. A living dynasty in the CIA, the Andersons have worked in the agency for generations and are always, without competition, the most talented.

The most successful of his family was Arthur Anderson. Every mission that he ran was met with success, and more of the country's enemies were stopped by Arthur than any other agent in the history of the CIA. With his brother Henry at his side, he rose to lead the department for which they worked, and through time he was given two sons who he raised to follow in his path.

But destiny had decided that he needed more, and took him on one last mission that would change the fate of the world.


	2. Prologue

**Prologue**

Arthur Anderson mopped at his sweaty brow, cursing the mustiness of the motel room he'd been holed up inside of for the last six hours without reprieve. He was a naturally composed man, but if there was one thing he detested it was humidity, and the summery Chicago air was heavy with it. It didn't help that it was getting closer to time to go, and his adrenaline seemed to climb with each minute and took his temperature with it, even while he showed no outward signs of anticipation. He couldn't be more ready for the waiting part to be over and done with.

"Jackson's in position," announced the blonde woman stationed at the desk in the corner that they had turned into a makeshift computer station. It was from this position that his tech handler was monitoring the details of their mission. "Kenar is en route, ETA four minutes, and then it's just you two left."

"Thanks Joan," replied Arthur and she glanced back over her shoulder to toss him a confident smile. He felt his lips twitch fondly. If he hadn't sworn off the idea of another relationship, he would have readily pursued the cool, intelligent blonde, but he had learned in the past that relationships with a CIA man never ended well. It was the reason he was a widower twice over by the age of thirty-two.

There was a tinny beep and Joan pressed a button on her headset. "Campbell," she said and then paused. "Of course. Just a moment." She slipped off the headset and spun her chair to face Arthur. "It's for you, darling," she said, holding the earpiece toward him, and then added in a lower voice, "Big brother checking up again."

Torn between laughing at her comment and rolling his eyes at the phone call, Arthur placed the set on his ear. "Anderson."

"Yes, Arthur, I would assume so since that's who I asked for," responded the irritated voice of his older brother, Henry. "If it were anyone but you then your handler is entirely inept on top of being highly sarcastic and patronizing."

"Well lucky for us that she isn't then, isn't it?" said Arthur calmly. "What did you need, Henry?"

"To ask one last time what the hell you are doing," said Henry. "You've been content to sit behind a desk for the last year, and then out of the blue, weeks before going overt, you decide to take on one more run at being a field agent. What's gotten into your head?"

"Richard Per-"

"Oh bollocks," cut in Henry. "We both know this has nothing to with the seventh floor. Why _this_ mission?"

"Why not?" Arthur responded with a smirk, simply because he knew the answer would infuriate Henry. The truth was that he had no idea why he had chosen this particular mission. He had been thinking of running one more field mission, just for old time's sake, but none of them had inspired him into action. Then this one, a simple infiltration of a human trafficking ring, had come across his desk and he just _knew_ he needed to be involved. He had learned long ago to trust his instincts, so he immediately assigned himself as operations lead and left for Illinois two days later.

"Kenar's in place," Joan suddenly announced to the room. "It's now or never, boss."

Arthur felt his heart leap for the faintest moment. It was time. "Gotta go, Henry. I'll check in when it's over."

"You had better," was Henry's short response before the phone line disconnected. Arthur handed the headset to Joan and turned to his partner, another senior agent named Morrison whom Arthur had worked countless missions with, and they exchanged quick nods before leaving the hotel together.

The trip was made in no time, their pace brisk as they talked aimlessly about finance as part of their cover. In the summer heat the expensive suits they wore were stifling and Arthur was grateful that it was a relatively short walk to their destination.

The Persian Lion was a high-class nightclub set in a nondescript part of the city, built and decorated in antique Middle Eastern style. Heavy dance music pounded through the walls, audible from across the street, and a short line of hopeful-looking guests were queued outside the door. Arthur and Morrison walked straight to the muscled man guarding the door and flashed him a pair of entrance passes. The bouncer nodded and stepped aside to let them in, informing them, "Straight on to the back," in a deep voice that was nearly swallowed in the bass beat of the music.

It took a lot more effort to make it from the front of the club to the back than it had to make the trip to the club in the first place. It seemed to be packed to the bursting point with heated bodies dancing to the music. Past the restrooms and a few doors that Arthur knew to be supply closets, another door was barred by an even thicker-built guard than the one in front had been. He examined their entrance passes thoroughly, and only stepped aside to let them pass after Arthur had slipped a fifty dollar bill into his hand. With a wicked smile, the man bid them a good evening and pushed open the wooden door.

Even over the pounding music, Arthur could hear loud noises from beneath them as they moved down the staircase concealed behind the door. The bald concrete walls were cold and made the place feel oppressive; it was more than enough to make Arthur feel on-edge as he looked around and tried to pretend that he belonged. The stairs ended and then the hall rounded a corner, which opened up into an enormous underground arena. People were crowded around the low metal fence that lined a wide sunken circle in the centre where all of the attention was focused. Arthur pushed his way through until he was close enough to peer down into the circle, and what he saw made his blood run cold.

The sunken ring was made of solid concrete that was discoloured by dark streaks and splatters, with a single thick, steel door in the wall. In the middle of the ring were two figures, attacking each other with the ferocity of wild animals while the crowd cheered and screamed. By the shouting around him, Arthur could tell that the spectators were betting on the outcome of the fight, and he knew that this was so much more than human trafficking. But what really turned his stomach was the realization that the fighters were only _children_; both boys were lean, strong, and couldn't have been more than twelve years old.

Fire fuelled his veins as Arthur watched the scene with a detached, interested expression. His mind turned to his two sons at home, who were not much older than the boys below him, and he was all the more determined to see the job done. Anything to put these sick bastards behind bars. He glanced sideways at Morrison and his partner was wearing the same forced expression of curiosity, but Arthur knew him well enough to recognise the set of his shoulders and knew he felt the same way. They were only supposed to be collecting information, but if there was a chance of taking these men down here and now then they would take it.

It didn't take long for Arthur to spot the man who was clearly in charge of the ring. Near Arthur's own age and with an equally expensive taste in clothing, he was standing back from the spectators and observing the chaos coolly. Arthur wound his way toward the man, Morrison directly behind him, and stopped just a few feet to the man's side to watch the fight.

"Fine business you've got here," said Arthur conversationally in a heavy Chicago accent, sparing the man just enough of a glance to let him know he was the one being addressed. "Very fine indeed."

"Thank you," the man replied, eyeing Arthur curiously. "Is this your first visit?"

"Yes, I'm afraid we missed you the last time you were through town," agreed Arthur, finally glancing away from the two wrestling boys to give the ring's director his full attention. "Shame, but all for the best I suppose. The lucks have changed since then – business finally sank its claws in – and now my brother and I have far more money to spend on luxuries like wagers." Arthur felt the man's eyes take in his appearance, and then Morrison's as well, and knew that he had him hooked. "Of course, it'll be a rough start for us here, not knowing where to put our bets. That's the risk you take when you fancy a new sport, I suppose."

"Perhaps I could offer a little friendly advice," said the man.

Arthur exchanged a look with Morrison and they both chuckled. "I know a businessman's trick when I see it," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "You would tell me the worst to profit from my bets. We're businessmen ourselves; we know how the game is played."

For a moment the man regarded Arthur thoughtfully, and then he smiled. "I like you," he said with an approving nod. "I like the way you think. So how about I do you one better? I'll show you all of my fighters, let you get a good look at them. Then you'll have a much better idea of where to put your money."

Pretending to consider it, Arthur looked sideways at Morrison. "What you think, Mike?" he asked.

"Sounds fair to me," replied Morrison with smirk. "Can't hurt to take a look at the little beasts and see which ones look like real winners, could it?"

"Smart man," the director said and then gestured for them to follow him. He led them through yet another door, behind which there was another short staircase, and they stepped out into a large room. It took all of Arthur's lifetime of training to not baulk at the sight.

The room was as cold and blank as the other. An open space in the middle was divided in two by a roughly shaped metal wall, and on either side a young boy was stretching his muscles with a sort of grim determination on his face. The other half of the room was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling chain link fencing, like an enormous dog kennel, containing at least twenty other boys of varying ages, although even the largest couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen. Arthur noted that each of the boys seemed to bear a tattoo of some kind, on their chests or backs or arms, and that no two were marked the same.

"Well, these are the fighters," the director said with a grand gesture around the room. "We have cells in the back where they sleep, but this is where we let them out to stretch. Can't have them tight before a match."

He moved closer to the kennel and Arthur and Morrison followed, feigning interest. "Each of them is marked so betters can tell them apart," he explained. "See this one," he pointed to a broad-chested boy with black stripes inked across his back and arms, "that's the Tiger. Flame, there, with the fire on his chest. Razor, Pitbull, Falcon." As the man continued to list the names of the boys, Arthur cast a quick cursory glance around the room to prepare himself. There was only one other entrance to the room, apart from a door set into the back of the kennel that he assumed was used for the boys. Four large men were standing guard, one in each corner of the room, and they were armed with what appeared to be cattle-prods. A bit of a struggle there, but as long as they could prevent anyone from escaping and getting out the alarm, this room would be an easy take-down.

"All of them are exceptional fighters. They have to be to survive here for long." The man chuckled with a sick sort of pleasure and the two CIA agents joined in instinctively. "I'll admit though, there are a few of them who are better than all the rest. The ones with fighting in their blood. Pitbull has only lost a handful of fights, and he's been with us for years. It is never wise to bet against the Mammoth, I think you can tell why. Yeah, that giant of a brute back there. Built like a monster, he is, and he knows how to use it. And then there's the agile ones, boys like the Cobra and Sabre And in my personal experience, agility will almost always beat out on size. _Almost."_

A dull bell sounded from inside the arena and the noise of the crowd redoubled. Two of the guards crossed to the door set into the wall and opened it, and a minute later they came back. The first was gripping the arm of a young boy who looked smug despite the broken nose that was bleeding down his face. The second had another boy, clearly unconscious, slung over his shoulder like a game animal.

"Just put them away for the night," the man in charge said dismissively. "Have Doc check them both over. I want them both ready to fight again tomorrow night." The guards nodded and slipped into the back room. The other two guards ushered the stretching boys into the arena, and the director consulted a list from his pocket. "Next out is the Sabre and the Rat. Let's go."

Two boys that had been sitting near the back of the kennel stood and began walking toward the gated door. One was small, pale, and looked positively terrified as he led the way, casting glances over his shoulder at the boy who would be his opponent. The second boy was tall and lean, with such a tangled mop of uneven brown hair hanging down his forehead that Arthur couldn't understand how the boy could even see. He didn't fail to notice that many of the others were gazing up at this boy with looks bordering on reverence, and that he had an embellished sword tattooed down nearly the entire length of his spine.

"Trust me, this'll be a match to watch," the director said with a smirk. "The Sabre never fails to impress. A friendly tip: you'll always want to put your money on him. New-comers and doubters always bet against him because of his weaknesses, so you can make a haul on his wins."

Arthur and Morrison leapt into action at the same time. The moment the director had turned his back, Arthur looped an arm around his neck and pinned him in place. Morrison ran to the arena door and slammed it shut, grabbing one of the discarded cattle prods and wedging it through the door handle. The guards began hammering on it from the other side and the noise from the arena got louder. "Get the other door," said Arthur and Morrison nodded, heading for the door behind the kennel.

From that moment everything happened so quickly that Arthur could hardly make sense of it. Morrison yelled as the door swung open. Arthur turned to see and the fight director took advantage of the distraction, jerking one hand free of Arthur's grip. The next second a splitting pain had erupted in Arthur's thigh and his leg buckled, a knife protruding from the skin. The director drew a gun from his waistband and Arthur found himself staring up the barrel from the floor.

"Stuart, get down," a high-pitched treble shouted through the din in the room. Then Arthur saw a narrow figure race up the wall and leap at the director. The gun went off and Arthur rolled to the side as the bullet clipped his arm and sank into the concrete. When he looked up again, the boy had climbed around to the man's front like a monkey and was struggling against the arm holding the gun. It was the curly-haired boy with the sword on his back, and even while he was fighting he shouted, "Hide, Stu!"

A gunshot cracked through the room again and the boy let out a scream of pain. The director snarled as he flung the boy's body aside, where it landed in a heap on the concrete. Arthur jerked the knife from his leg and threw, and it sank into the director's sternum. When the man collapsed, Arthur wrestled the gun from his grip and cracked him over the head with it, then twisted to where Morrison was fighting against the guards from the back room and fired twice. Both guard's right kneecaps exploded with sickening sounds and their screams drowned each other out as they fell.

"Take care of them," Arthur shouted to Morrison, and the other man nodded. Gritting his teeth, Arthur heaved himself up and limped over to the boy who was curled on the floor. He gently rolled him onto his back and the boy whimpered, his hands clutching his bleeding stomach, and his gaze was unfocused as he stared up at the ceiling. "Hey there, hold on kid," said Arthur. "You hang in there, I'm going to get you out of this." The boy bit his lip and nodded.

Arthur pulled out his earpiece and slipped it in, pressing the button. It clicked and then Joan's voice said, "What happened, boss? Kenar called in that he heard gunshots. The local cops are already on their way."

"Got into a bit of trouble with the director of this place," Arthur answered. "It's neutralized now, but we need an ambulance, ASAP."

"You hurt?" asked Joan, and Arthur could hear her breathless concern even over the staticky connection.

"No, but one of these kids is," said Arthur. He heard Joan exclaim. "We don't have time now, Joanie, but I swear I'll check in later. Just get me that bus."

"Right away, boss," said Joan and then the line went dead. Arthur tucked the piece back into his pocket and looked around. Morrison had bound both of the guards and was already opening the gate for the kennel, escorting the boys out with the help of the other two agents, who had appeared on the stairs. Everything was taken care of, so Arthur only had one concern.

"How you doing, kid?" Arthur asked the boy.

The boy wrinkled his nose and there was the littlest smile on his lips when he responded, "Guns hurt."

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. Not even some of his agents could make jokes with bullet holes in their guts. "Yes they do," he agreed. "Well this is going to hurt a bit too, but I'm going to get you out of here, all right?" The boy nodded again and Arthur moved as carefully as he could in scooping the boy into his arms. "Just stay awake for me, okay?"

"Have you ever been shot with a gun?" the boy asked weakly.

"Eight times," said Arthur and the boy tilted his distant gaze in Arthur's direction, looking amazed. "Want to hear about it?" When the boy nodded, Arthur set into a series of tales about adventures and war-torn countries and shadowy enemies. It was half-fabricated, since he was sure that telling classified information to a boy, even if he was only half-conscious, was treason, but it kept the boy awake until Arthur could get him loaded into the back of the waiting ambulance.

Ten hours, twenty-seven stitches, and a shot of morphine later, and Arthur was sitting in a hard plastic visitor's chair in Langley's private medical centre. He felt like he was seconds away from falling asleep after the exhausting day. Worse than the actual mission was the chaos that followed; the debriefing with the Chicago PD, the debriefing with his own boss, the long-winded lecture he'd gotten from Henry for forgetting to check in and not following protocol and a dozen other things. Things didn't improve any when Henry found out that Arthur had brought an extra person home with him.

Arthur sighed and leaned forward on the chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he gazed over at the hospital bed. The little curly-haired boy was tucked beneath the blankets, a tube of oxygen threaded beneath his nose and IVs taped to the back of his hand. The doctors had already patched him up as best as they could and Arthur had been told that with rest he would recover just fine. Of course then there had been another medical discovery that Arthur could never have expected.

The boy groaned and Arthur glanced up. He was shifting around anxiously, and then winced and clutched his stomach. "Hey, calm down, kid, you're okay," said Arthur, sliding his chair closer to the bed.

The boy stiffened and turned to look at Arthur. "Where am I?" he asked nervously, his voice hoarse. "What's going on?"

"You're at a hospital," Arthur said slowly. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I got shot," the boy said and his shoulders relaxed slightly. "The Boss, he shot me when you came to save us. You saved us, right? Stuart, and all the other boys, they're okay?"

"Yes, everyone is fine," Arthur assured him. It was amazing how even in his situation, the boy was more concerned about the others than himself. This kid was truly something special. "They're all going to be taken care of now."

"Oh good," the boy said and he leaned back into the pillows again, letting his eyes drift half-shut.

"What's your name, kid?" asked Arthur.

"Sabre," he answered automatically.

"No, I meant your real name," Arthur clarified. "Like your friend Stuart."

The boy shifted and frowned. "I don't have one of those," he said quietly. "Mom, she just called me her boy, and then one day she just went away. She said she'd come back for me but she didn't. So I lived with the other people that didn't have houses. They just called me Kid mostly. And then Boss came and picked me up, and he called me Sabre, and that's all anyone's ever called me, really."

Arthur felt sick to his stomach listening to the boy's story. Raised without a family, without a home, and without even a name to call his own. "That's not so bad though," said Arthur, his voice much calmer than his mind. "Means that you get to pick your own."

"I can pick my own name?" the boy asked, his eyes widening. When Arthur hummed his agreement, the boy wrinkled up his nose in concentration. "I want a good one, one that means something I like. Like this time of year, when everything is warm and smells like plants. I liked when we got moved to other arenas this time 'cause I could feel the heat in the back of the truck, and it was much nicer than the cold. What's this time called?"

"Summertime," Arthur answered, marvelled and horrified that the boy didn't even know simple things like this. "Although if you want to be specific, right now it's August."

The boy's face split into an enormous smile. "August," he repeated thoughtfully. "I like that one. Can my name be August?"

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. It wasn't a common name, by any means, but then this wasn't a common child. "Sure kid, if that's the one you want," he said. "So August, how long were you part of that fighting group?"

August's smile sank slightly. "A long time," he said quietly. "I don't know how long really, but there were three winters at least. Getting moved then was always so cold."

"Yeah, winter will do that," Arthur agreed, inwardly digesting this information. The doctor had put the boy's age at about eleven, which meant he had to have been with the fighting ring since about the age of seven or eight. "And, uh, how long have you not been able to see?"

The boy stiffened and turned his eyes down to his lap. "It happened in a fight," August admitted in a voice that was practically a whisper. "Mammoth shoved me into a wall. The rocks were sharp and I hit my head hard. Then I don't remember a lot, but when I woke up I just couldn't see. Boss wanted to get rid of me, but I got scared and started fighting the guys. I didn't want them to just get rid of me, I know what happens to the kids they get rid of and I don't wanna die. I did pretty good and Boss said he'd keep me so long as I could keep fighting. So I did. I listened and heard them moving, and I can feel them moving, sort of, and sometimes it's so strong it's like I can almost see them, you know?" He fell silent for a minute and then lifted his head, and his dark, unfocused eyes were hopeful. "Can you fix my eyes? There are doctors here. They fixed where I got shot, so they can fix my eyes right?"

Arthur let out a heavy breath. He'd had this conversation with the doctor the moment he'd arrived, when the doctor told him about the thick scar on the boy's head and the damage beneath it; when he'd told him that with the proper attention his sight might have been saved when it happened, but that with the shoddy care he'd been given he was lucky to have escaped with his life at all and that there weren't any other worse complications. "I'm sorry, kid," Arthur said wearily. August hung his head. "But I have something else to give you that you might like. I was wondering, do you want a family?"

August's head shot up and his eyes had widened again, his head tilting curiously. "I can have a family?" he asked breathlessly. "I never had one of those. I mean, I had a mom once but I don't remember her 'cause I was so little."

"It won't be right away, because you've got to stay here and heal," Arthur said, "but when you're ready, I have a home waiting for you. I have two other sons at home and they've always wanted another brother."

"Brother," August whispered reverently.

"Mr. Anderson," a nurse spoke up as she walked into the room. "It's time he gets some rest." Arthur nodded and she inserted a syringe into the IV hooked to the boy's hand.

"Time for you to sleep," Arthur said and August nodded, his eyelids already starting to droop. Smiling, Arthur reached up and wrapped his hand around the boy's, and August's thin fingers curled around his own. "I'll be here when you wake up. But for now, get some rest, all right son?" And August smiled as he drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter One, Fifteen Years Later

**Chapter One  
><strong>_15 Years Later_

A fist collided with his torso, right in the sensitive area directly beneath his sternum, so forcefully that he felt all of the breath leave his body. August Anderson groaned and stumbled backward a step, trying to regain his focus and that much needed oxygen. The cheers and jeering around him sounded blurred as he scrambled to collect himself. The only voice he could hear clearly was, unfortunately, the one shouting directly in his ear.

"Seriously, Aug, you're going to get your ass handed to you by that wimp?" it said without bothering to hide its laughter. "He's a beanstalk!"

August reached up and pressed the camouflaged microphone glued below his ear before growling out through his teeth, "How would you know?"

"I've hacked the security cameras of the hotel," the voice replied nonchalantly. "Now c'mon and get it together, August. You're embarrassing me, and if I lose money to Barber over this I'm taking it out of your wallet."

"So stop betting on me, Stuart," snapped August, but he couldn't completely hide his own amusement at his best friend's antics. They'd been close since they'd been together in the fighting rings and August had taken Stuart, a boy far too young and too small to survive in the arena, under his protection. Ten years and a computer science degree had Stuart being recruited into the CIA tech department, and it had only taken a little campaigning on August's part to get Stuart assigned to be his handler.

He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and straightened up, focusing his hearing on the heavy breathing in front of him. A scuff to the left, a staggered step forward. August threw his right arm forward in time to catch the man in the chest before he could attack again. The man grunted and stepped to the side, giving August a chance to spin around and catch him in the other side. As he fell the man grabbed the back of August's knee, dragging him down to the ground with him.

"That's right, Aug, kick his ass," Stuart was crowing in his ear as August wrestled with the other man, trying to gain leverage over him. He had just gotten ahold of one of the man's arms and was twisting it behind his back when a new voice, sharp and demanding, joined the fray around them.

"August!" He stopped, still pinning the man to the ground with his knee, and tilted his head in the direction of the voice. "Come on."

"I'm a little busy," August replied, grunting with the effort of keeping the writhing man from escaping. "Leave a message with the secretary and I'll call you back."

There was a smattering of amused laughter from the gathered crowd. Instead of responding, the speaker approached and grabbed August by the elbow, dragging him to his feet and pulling him roughly through the crowd. "Killjoy," August grumbled at the man holding his arm.

"Quit being such a child," the other man snapped and August felt the change in the air as he was led through into the shade of the hotel.

"You know how much I don't like being led like a dog, Jai," August growled and ripped his arm from the other man's grip, crossing his arms over his chest and taking up a defensive stance. He heard the man beside him stop and take a deep breath.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Jai Anderson said evenly. "You're my little brother. Shoving you around comes naturally."

August could hear the lame attempt at a joke in his brother's voice and he smiled, relaxing his posture and holding his hand out in a sign of forgiveness. Jai took his hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow, and then the two of them set off further into the cheap hotel. "So are you going to tell me why exactly you've stolen me away from my fun?" he asked.

"Stairs," Jai warned and August prepared himself, his foot finding the bottom step and beginning the careful climb upward. "You know Dad will be mad when he finds out you've been out fighting again, especially while on a mission. We're supposed to be avoiding attention. A blind man beating people up in the streets isn't exactly subtle."

"That's why I didn't tell them I'm blind," said August with a simple shrug, letting his older brother lead him around the landing and to the next flight of stairs. "As far as they know, I was just a drunken asshole with an attitude problem."

"Oh so you just told them the truth then?" Jai asked mockingly and August rolled his eyes but didn't respond. His older brother's voice turned more sombre as he added, "Uncle Henry's here. The plans are changing."

"Uncle Henry is here?" August asked in surprise. "Why?"

"To oversee the mission," Jai explained as they mounted the last set of stairs. "And by the sounds of it he's got something important to say. I don't know what's going on exactly, but it doesn't sound like he's brought good news." August nodded and inclined his head, listening for sounds from ahead. He could hear vague mumblings from the rooms they passed; a middle aged man talking on his phone in rapid Sanskrit, a cleaning woman singing to herself, and the garbled sounds of a couple being intimate. There was nothing but silence when Jai stopped them in front of the room assigned to them.

Jai tapped his knuckles against the door and then August heard the whoosh of air as the door swung inward. "There you are," Conrad, the eldest Anderson brother, said and August heard him moving around as the door shut behind them.

The musty scent of a familiar cologne made August tilt his head. "Uncle Henry," he said in greeting, nodding his head respectfully.

"Put on a shirt, would you?" Henry growled out. August smirked at the irritable response and caught the tee-shirt that Jai tossed in his direction when it hit his chest, tugging it over his head. "Where have you been?"

"Just taking in the local scenery," August said with a shrug. He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest, holding back a wince as his bruised ribs ached. "What are you doing here, Uncle?"

"Change of plans," Henry said briskly. "I've gotten new information from one of my personal contacts. There's a group supplying weapons to terrorist groups under the cover of a monastery just outside the next town. I'll make sure your intel job is handed off. Taking down these weapons traders is our top priority now."

"What is the plan?" Conrad asked.

"Con, wait," August cut in, straightening up. "We can't just jump into this. We were sent here to get information from Colombo technicians, not raid a _church_. This is a massive breach of protocol, not to mention I'm pretty sure it's illegal to attack a holy ground." He turned his head to direct his next question at Uncle Henry. "Where did you say this information came from?"

"From classified contacts of mine," Henry retorted shortly. "They are assets turned back when I was in the field that I have maintained contact with. That should be all you need to know."

August nodded, accepting that answer. "And what does Dad say about this mission?"

"Nothing," Henry said. "He's in diplomatic meetings and is unreachable, but I am sure that he would not want us to sit idly by while weapons are put in the hands of our enemies."

The lighter set of footsteps belonging to Conrad came across the room and August felt a hand on his shoulder. "Jai, August, what do you say?"

"I think we would be fools to pass up this opportunity," Jai said immediately. August wasn't surprised; it was a terrorist attack in India that had killed his mother when he was seven and since then Jai had always taken whatever opportunity he could get for a little revenge, no matter the faction.

"What about you?" Conrad asked, squeezing August's shoulder.

August hesitated. While he felt in his heart that this was a bad idea, he knew that he would be overruled regardless. His family was all he had in life and it was there that he would always place his trust. "I think that I will follow you wherever you decide to lead us," he said.

"Spoken like a true diplomat," Henry said with what passed for a laugh from him. "Be careful Conrad, or he may very well sneak in and steal Arthur's job out from beneath you with that silver tongue of his." August scoffed, and although his brothers both laughed there was an uneasy strain under it. Before he could say anything more, Conrad had released his shoulder and walked towards their uncle.

"Very well, so what's our plan?" he asked. The four of them settled in to lay out their strategy. They would strike in the dead of night, using every weapon available to them to eliminate any perceived threat before turning to the weapons search. All power, domination, and aggression. It was a classic Henry Anderson plan.

And August could not have disagreed with it more.


	4. Chapter Two, The Monastery

AN: In this chapter we finally get to meet the mysterious Annie Walker... *cue suspenseful music* Not to mention you get to read about some more of the ridiculously impossible technology I've invented in my head just to make this story possible. Please, leave all logic and common sense thinking at the door. Thank you, and enjoy your ride.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Two<span>**

"Stuart, you there?" August was huddled in wait outside the monastery, awaiting the signal from Jai that the siege would begin. The area was different from where their hotel had been; instead of open and dusty and busy, this place was cooler and isolated, with the strong scent of vegetation and moisture. Somewhere in the distance he could hear running water.

"I hear you, man," Stu replied, his voice crisp through the tech.

"Good. Did you look up those prints for me?" August asked. He paused for a second to make sure that no one had heard him, but Conrad was having a whispered conversation with Jai and Henry over the radio and hadn't even noticed that August had eased several metres away and switched off their frequency. "Did you find anything?"

"Yeah, you were totally right," Stuart said eagerly. "Just two metres from the north-east corner there's a service-way in the roof. Looks like if you follow it, it'll take you straight to the front doors with a whole lot hassle than Jai's idea of blasting through that gateway."

August smiled in satisfaction. If there was a way of getting this job done with a lower casualty rating, he was going to take it. Showing up Jai was just an added perk. "Great. Track my position and keep me on course."

When Stu gave the affirmative, August turned on his hardware. Thousands of dollars of government grant money had gone into the bracers he wore on his forearms. The original design was a laser-mapping cane to warn him when there was something in his path. When he was a teen the technology had been adapted to hands-free wrist braces that allowed him to move around just as effectively as a sighted person and, most importantly, participate in the field with his brothers.

August set off through the low dunes, taking care to not disturb the wide-leafed ferns around him as he moved. Stuart's voice in his ear guided him in the right direction, warning him of upcoming dangers by his satellite feed. He kept low and quiet in the darkness, the humid air around him contrasting with the heat radiating off the sand beneath him. The vibration in his arms and Stu's comment told him that he had reached the wall and his fingers stretched out to feel the rough stone surface. It was an ornamental wall, decorated with elaborate carvings and metal design work. Perfect for scaling.

"Watch yourself," Stuart hissed and then muttered a string of curse words that crackled with static over the connection. August flattened himself against the wall as best as he could and waited. "I don't know what's going on, dude. I was trying to get a thermal reading on the place but my sensors have gone haywire. There must be some crazy radiation in that place or something. None of my scans are working."

"That's all right, Stu, I'll take it from here," August said. He had expected as much; if these people really were building weapons beneath the floors then it made sense they would have the place blocked from outside communications and scans. "I'll let you know when I'm through and you can link into Conrad's radio and let him know."

"Alright man. Once you're on the roof, head right and there's a door in the ceiling that puts you in a service hall. Follow that all the way down and when you hit the bottom of the stairs you're right at the front door. That's when you buzz me. Be careful dude," Stuart said.

August reached up and flipped the switch in his earpiece, cutting off his connection. Stuart wouldn't be able to be his eyes on this one. He was on his own. August felt a small thrill of excitement burn in his chest. Just like the days back in the fighting ring, he would be relying entirely on his own body to get him out alive. As much as he tried to forget his dark past, he couldn't argue that there was no rush quite like it.

The wall was coarse beneath his hands as he climbed, his fingers reaching up ahead of him to find some purchase. It was slow moving but it kept him silent and undetected. He swallowed down his grateful sigh when his hand found the top ledge of the wall and he was able to heave himself over onto the roof. The surface was smooth and slippery, the polished shingles not providing much support under his military-grade boots. Gritting his teeth, August toed out of his boots and let his bare feet rest on the heated shingles. Much better.

Walking at a crouch, August headed in the direction Stuart had told him, using both his hands and his feet to find his way around. He tapped his toes against something and bent to run his fingers over it, finding a hinge. A little more exploration yielded the rest of the door and the latch that made it swing open. A narrow ladder was mounted on the wall opposite the latch and he lowered himself down it until his toes found the cold stone floor.

It was even colder inside of the monastery and August felt chills erupt on his bared skin. There was a strange prickling in the air that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he pressed himself against the wall, listening intently for any sign of danger. He wasn't one for religion but whether it was magic or faith or maybe just his own paranoia, this place definitely had some sort of energy to it.

Shaking himself, August pressed on down the hallway. He kept one hand flat against the stones and swept the other in small arcs in front of him in case the floor decided to disappear beneath him. The hall was simple, smooth, and blank, and the mustiness of the air told him that it was rarely ever used. This side of the monastery was quiet and the only sounds August could hear were his heartbeat and the gentle rasp of his feet against the stone. It was disarming and gave him the vague feeling of walking into a trap.

The feel of the air changed, alerting August that the hallway had opened up. His bracers stopped shaking as badly and he tested around with his foot until he found the place where the steps sank. Pausing again, his ears caught the sound of someone breathing as it echoed up the spiralling staircase. August quickly pulled a small rod from his belt and held it at the ready as he started cautiously down the stairs. This would be the part where things got dangerous.

He heard no other motion as he headed down the steps and no one spoke, which meant that whoever was ahead of him hadn't spotted him. August hesitated when he was only metres away and waited, listening. Then, with a deep breath to steady himself, he leapt down the last few steps onto his victim. Before the man could shout August had covered his mouth with his hand, and then jabbed the rod into his back, pressing the power button. The man's body went rigid as electricity coursed through his nervous system and then he went limp in August's arms.

Bracing himself, August lowered the man to the ground and then tensed again. Still no noise. August moved the man's body against the wall and then took a quick survey of his surroundings. It was a large open room that smelled of juniper and something softer, like aloe maybe. There was another scent beneath it, so faint that he couldn't place it, but it was warm and vibrant and it made his chest swell. It was almost hypnotizing in a way, and he found himself breathing deeper just to fill himself with that mysterious aroma.

A scuffling sound brought August back to reality with a snap and he quickly turned and found the doors. The locks were heavy, state-of-the-art bolts that felt out of place in such an old building. Clearly they had spared no expense at protecting whatever secrets they were hiding behind these holy walls. August heaved the doors open and a startled noise told him where the sentry outside the door stood. The tazer rod made quick work of both the sentry and his companion that came around the corner after him. Finally August reached the front gate, an enormous creation of wrought-iron set into the stone walls. Instead of Uncle Henry's plan of explosives, August chose the more subtle method of picking the locks. It took a few minutes of exploring the mechanisms beside the gate to figure them out, but finally he found the lever that hauled the gate open.

"Stu, I'm in," August said, pressing the button on his earpiece to open the connection again. "Let the boys know it's time to join the party."

"Right on it, boss," Stuart said cheerfully, and then the connection went dead again. Grinning, August tossed a mocking salute into the night, hoping that Jai was watching. Then he turned and went back into the monastery entrance hall.

He had made his way down one silent corridor and was just about to turn into a second one when he heard a shout from up ahead. He cursed himself, angry that he had somehow missed the sound of an approaching person. As the man continued to yell out alarms in a language August wouldn't even dream of understanding, August armed his tazer rod and prepared himself for the fight. He closed his eyes and used the laser-mapping to visualize his surroundings. When three men charged at him from around the corner, he saw it as much as felt it.

All of his engrained training came back to him in an instant, and he settled into his personally developed fighting style. It aimed to disarm and neutralize his opponents without killing them, using his own body as a weapon as much as any other object. He had learned to fight that way in the underground ring when he had been forced to rely on simply his own muscles and agility to keep him alive. With no visual knowledge of his opponent to give him an edge, everything about his attacks was based solely on his own body. It had set him apart from his brothers and the others that he had trained with on the Farm.

Of course none of his uniqueness or even his blindness changed the fact that he was the single best hand-to-hand combatant in the CIA.

The monastery was like a maze as August ran up one hall and down another, taking down anyone that crossed his path. He could hear gunshots echoing in the distance, meaning that his brothers had joined the fight. August knew that he'd be covered now; anyone hunting for the infiltrators would immediately head towards the noise they were making. He would be the silent enemy, taking them down from within. It was his favourite role, the one he was perfectly suited for.

Redirecting himself in his mind, August oriented himself to what he remembered to be the centre of the building. Anything important was always in the middle. The closer he got to the heart of the monastery, the more enemies he encountered. He was forced to redirect himself around in a large circle, creeping his way in through a narrow side hall to avoid being seen. When he finally slipped out into another main corridor, the sounds of fighting were far in the distance. He smiled; he had broken past their inner defences. He was in.

Feeling around, he found another small corridor and followed it as it sloped downward and curved around through the building. It was silent and the ground was carpeted with a thick rug that muted the sound of his footsteps. The only disadvantage was that it would also muffle the sound of another person as well.

A harsh noise made August freeze and he tensed, listening. It was a hoarse rasp, coming in frantic bursts. A second later he recognised it as laboured breathing, just in time for the sound to come around a corner. The breather let out a surprised noise - deep, telling August it was a man - and then he growled and spat something out in that thick local language. Some regional dialect of Tamil, if he had guess, although he wasn't overly familiar with the native languages. August barely had time to ready himself before the man lunged.

Knowing the most common attack would be to aim for his chest, August dropped to the ground. He swung out with a leg and managed to catch the other man around the ankles. The man sprawled on the ground next to him and August leapt into action, climbing on top of the other man and trying to subdue him. He pulled the tazer rod from his belt but the man twisted his wrist and sent the rod flying. Cursing, August and the man continued to struggle for the upper-hand.

A faint grating sound was the only warning August had before he felt pain blossom up his arm. The blade was dull, so instead of slicing through the skin it shredded and pulled, and August swallowed back a yelp. Finding the man's wrist, August wrestled with him to get the weapon away. Three more cuts later, two on him and one on the other man, August jerked the knife out of his grip and then, before the man could react, August turned the blade over and plunged it into his torso. The man howled but stopped fighting.

Breathing heavily, August climbed off of the other man and straightened up, taking stock of his body. There was a sharp throbbing along his jaw and the cuts on his arm and chest stung, but beyond that he was still in good shape. Judging by the silence coming from the floor, the other man wasn't in as good of shape. August took a deep breath and then gritted his teeth and continued on. As much as he loathed having killed another man, it was his mission. He gripped the stolen blade tightly and forced himself to move on.

The corridor ended abruptly. Curious, August ran his fingers over what appeared to be a plain stone wall. There hadn't been any other doors that he had passed, so the other man must have gotten into the corridor somehow. Slowing the movements of his hands, he surveyed the wall closer and was rewarded with finding a small clasp in the wall. When he pressed in on the clasp a section of the wall swung free. August cautiously slipped through.

The room he had entered was enormous, he could tell that much just by the change in the flow of air. If he had to venture a guess, he would say he had wandered back into a main hall and, judging by how far he had gone, he suspected it might be the one that connected to the centre room. Most curious of all though was the smell; that beautiful, hypnotic scent that he had picked up in the entrance was a thousand times stronger here. It was enough to make his head spin.

Noise picked up off to his right side; a clamour of shouts mixed with the combination of blades and gunfire. The cavalry had arrived. Turning away from them, August headed into the next room. A quick sweep laid out a circular room, open and cavernous, and the only furniture he could sense was a large object set against the opposite wall. A shrine of some sort, most likely. The room was silent but he felt a prickle run up his spine, like he was being watched.

He had only taken four steps into the room when he caught a faint whistling sound, followed by a staggering pain across his back. The knife slipped from his fingers as he stumbled forward several steps, trying to catch his breath again as his ribcage screamed at the blow. The whistle picked up again and he managed to leap out of the way of the swing, although it was so close he felt the breeze cutting off of it.

"Get out of here!" The voice surprised August just as much as the sneak attack had. It spoke in English, but with a strong local accent, and it was full of power and command, obviously belonging to someone who was used to giving orders and having them followed. But what caught him most off guard was the fact that the speaker was a woman.

"I don't want to hurt you, miss," August said, sidestepping out of the way of another swipe. "Just put down the - bludgeoning thing."

"Get out!" the woman yelled. August wasn't able to move fast enough and caught another hit in the shoulder that momentarily numbed the nerves in his arm. He quickly snaked his other arm over and grabbed her weapon, which turned out to feel like some sort of ornate pole, like a coat stand or candle stand. Ignoring the piercing ache in his shoulder, he twisted and applied pressure to her arm until her grip broke. He tossed the pole aside and then gave her arm one last turn, sending her sprawling on her back with him kneeling on her stomach.

"I warned you," August grunted. The woman shrieked and began pummelling him with her other arm. Rolling his eyes, August grabbed that wrist as well and managed to hold them both in one hand. With his other hand he began searching her for more weapons. He'd already had one knife pulled on him so far, he wasn't really in the mood for another. The only thing his hand found was fine fabric, gentle curves, and a lot of exposed skin. Very soft, smooth exposed skin at that.

The woman had settled for spitting furious words at him in both her language and his. August just smirked and rummaged through one of his pockets until he found a zip-tie. He manoeuvred the woman over onto her stomach and wrenched her arms behind her back, and then fastened the tie around her wrists to keep them in place. She kicked at him feebly but he could tell that most of the fight had gone from her, at least for the time being.

"You going to play nice now?" August asked. The woman's response included a few words that August had never heard before and knew he'd never dare repeat. "Guess not." Still keeping her pinned, he ran his hand over the floor around them until he found the knife. He tucked it into his belt and then hauled her to her feet.

"The dagger," the woman gasped in awe.

Before August could ask what she meant the doors to the room flew open and two sets of familiar steps ran in. "There you are," Conrad said with a laugh. August stood and dragged the woman up with him. "We'd wondered where you snuck off to, August. And you found the priestess."

"Surely you didn't have that much trouble with a gorgeous young lady," Jai said smoothly, walking closer. August felt the woman's arm twist beneath his hand as she lunged and Jai's footstep staggered back. Conrad laughed richly.

"A fiery thing, isn't she?" Conrad asked. "So you're the one running this then. You're the one selling weapons to terrorists."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the woman replied darkly. "There are no weapons made here. This is a holy place, not a forge."

"We will see about that," Conrad said. "Uncle's back-up team is cleaning up out there. Jai, August, keep her under control, would you? I'm going to call Uncle and let him know the situation is controlled."

"The villagers were right," Jai said thoughtfully from somewhere in front of August. "They all talked about how the priestess of this church was beautiful and they weren't lying. She's magnificent."

"Don't get too attached, Jai," August warned playfully. "She's a terrorist ring leader, remember?"

"Ignorant fools," the woman muttered angrily.

"I'm just saying," Jai said with faint amusement, ignoring her, "if they manage to make her into an asset, I volunteer to be her handler." August rolled his eyes again but didn't bother answering. He could feel the woman practically vibrating with anger, and her eyes were fixed on him with a frightening sort of intensity that he could actually feel, like it was burning his skin.

"Quit staring, darling, you're not my type," August said sarcastically.

"Alright boys, let's pack it up," Conrad announced loudly, cutting off the woman's response. "Uncle's called in our transport, they'll be here in five, and then we're headed state side. Dad's called us back."

"Back home? What happened to the intel job?" August asked suspiciously.

"He's called it off," Conrad said. "Said he's sent someone else. He wants to talk to us about this mission immediately. Probably to congratulate us on pulling this off so well." He was trying to sound confident and assured but August could hear the tremor of nerves beneath his voice. He wasn't so certain they were headed toward praises, and neither was August. More likely they were walking into a major ass-kicking.

"Officer Anderson," an agent spoke from the entrance. All three brothers turned in his direction and the man chuckled awkwardly. "Sorry, I meant Conrad. We've got everyone out here detained and ready for transport. You want us to take that one too?"

"No, the spitfire is coming back with us," Conrad said. "She's got some information that we need."

"Go to hell," the woman spat, trying to jerk free of August's grip.

"Good luck with her," the other agent said and then turned and left.

"What's with the knife, August?" Conrad asked curiously.

"Got it off one of her guys," August answered simply.

"It looks like it should be in a museum," mused the elder Anderson. "It's beautiful, beneath the blood. I've never seen anything like it before. I'll take it off you. I know you're not really into weapons."

August's free hand moved down to the hilt because he could hear the burning desire in his oldest brother's voice. Conrad liked to collect unusual artefacts from their travels, but this was one August wasn't keen on parting with. It was a stupid thing but somehow he felt drawn to it and he didn't want to see it wind up on Conrad's office wall.

Apparently the knife wasn't only important to him, because the moment it had been mentioned, the woman had gone rigid beneath his grip. "That does not belong to you," she hissed. "That is property of the monastery."

August snorted. "Considering your guy tried to stick it in my chest, I think I have fair claim to it."

"C'mon, we should go," Conrad cut in before the woman could answer. "Our transport should be here and we need to get back to meet Dad on time." He took the woman's arm and began marching her out, leaving Jai and August to follow behind.

As August walked through the church, fingering the knife tucked in his belt, the strange frisson in the air picked up and sent chills through his every nerve. He wasn't sure what exactly was going on, but he did know one thing: whatever they'd just gotten into was a whole lot bigger than any of them had first expected.


	5. Chapter Three, To Hell in a Handbasket

**Chapter Three**

After the few days of holing up in a shaky motel room in the island humidity, the air conditioned interior of the CIA jet felt fantastic. August relaxed back into the padded chair and let his muscles uncoil, feeling the ache of the monastery raid seeping out of him. No matter what they were headed to, he was sure as hell going to enjoy this comfort and peace while it lasted. It wasn't like agents got to ride in the jet often, even the director's sons. In fact, if it wasn't for the woman cuffed to a chair in the back row of seats by herself they would probably be jammed in a crowded coach flight. They couldn't exactly take a prisoner of war onto a Delta flight, after all.

August didn't even bother lifting his head as he heard someone sinking into the chair across from him. The tired groan told him clear enough who it was, so he wasn't surprised to hear his uncle speak up. "Ready to be home?"

"Always," August said with a small smile, still talking in the direction of the luggage rack. "I love going on missions, but there's nothing quite like coming home."

"You always were the sentimental one," Henry said. By his tone of voice, August couldn't tell whether that was a compliment or a criticism. "That was an impressive job you pulled in there. Real initiative."

August laughed weakly. "I'm pretty sure where we're from it's called insubordination, not initiative."

"Well I was impressed," Henry said. "It shows you've got what it takes to be a real leader. That instinct to take charge and operate on your own. You really could be the one to replace Arthur one day."

"Thanks, but no thanks," August insisted. "I've never wanted Dad's job. That's Conrad's dream, not mine. I'm more than content where I'm at."

Henry hummed thoughtfully. "Yes, well there's always a place for the director's brother as well. Someone has to keep his head above water."

"Is that what you do?" August asked with a smile.

"That, and make sure that the bottle of Patron in his desk drawer stays full," Henry answered. He grunted as he shifted in the chair and then let out a small huff. "Looks like our visitor's finally fallen asleep. About damn time. I was getting tired of listening to her muttering to herself back there." At that moment his phone rang and he walked away to answer it.

August tried to relax again but he could feel the full canteen of water he'd gulped down before boarding the plane now sitting heavily in his core. With a groan he got up and made his way to the back of the plane to the restrooms. After he'd relieved himself he began to move back to his seat but a sound caught his attention and he paused, a small smile spreading across his lips.

"If you're going to pretend to sleep, you really need to learn to slow your breathing and your heart rate better," he said off-handedly.

"That isn't easy when you're being held captive," the woman replied.

August chuckled. "Trust me, with some training you can teach your body to do almost anything." He couldn't explain why exactly, but he lowered himself into the seat opposite her. "What's your name?"

"Use your big government powers if you want to know so badly," she said. "The same way you take everything you want."

"Don't get pissy with me, princess," he said. "I was just following orders."

"Don't call me princess," she growled.

"I call 'em like I see 'em," August said simply, smiling to himself at his joke. The woman huffed and he heard the rustle of fabric and hair as she turned as far away from him as she could with her wrist chained to the chair. As she did August caught scent of something that made his eyes widen in surprise. "That smell, it's you."

"What room do you have to talk about my smell?" the woman asked bitterly. "You smell like a donkey's ass."

August frowned. "Sorry, princess, I haven't exactly had a chance to shower yet," he said. "But that wasn't what I meant. That smell, from the monastery, it's coming from you. The bright smell. What is it?"

"_Bright_ smell?" the woman asked sceptically. "I didn't know smells gave off light."

"Well it's never too late to learn something new," August said distractedly. "What is it, the smell? It's like some sort of fruit."

The woman just stared at him for a long time, like she couldn't quite believe him. August waited expectantly, ignoring the way her stare made his skin prickle. "Grapefruit," she said finally. "It's grapefruit oil."

August settled back in his seat with a grin. "Grapefruit," he repeated. "Of course. Well it smells nice."

"What are you?" the woman asked. "You hear heartbeats and can smell fruit oil on my skin. Are you some sort of government experiment super soldier or something?"

"Or something," August answered casually. He tried to avoid telling people he was blind if he could. It was irritating the way people treated him when they found it. He had developed a decent amount of independence thanks to the technology he wore on him, not to mention that he could easily hold his own in a highly competitive and dangerous line of work, and he couldn't stand the way that was all tossed by the roadside when people found out he was 'disabled.'

Not that he understood why he even cared what this woman's opinion of him was.

August abruptly stood up, turning away from the woman. She was a terrorist supplier, an enemy of his country and, by extension, his family and everything they fought for. He marched, stiff-backed, to his seat and sank back into it. Even though he was shielded by the back of the chair, it was like he could still feel her eyes on him. He suddenly couldn't wait for the trip to be over.

. . . . .

By the time the plane touched down in Langley's private airstrip, August was completely exhausted. Although nearly everyone else had slept during the long ride home, he hadn't been able to clear his mind enough to drift off. He had felt that woman's eyes on him the whole trip, even long after she'd fallen asleep for real. It was like she was haunting him. He couldn't wait to be rid of her.

A transport vehicle was waiting for them at the hangar. The stoic man driving the vehicle didn't say a word until he had stopped outside of the front doors, where he left them with a murmured, "Officers Anderson."

It was a comfort to get into the Langley building, where suddenly everything was familiar to him. The smells of paper and mingling colognes and perfumes, the energy of working suits trying organize missions and coordinate data, the frenetic buzz of conversation as people shouted orders to each other and whispered conspiratorially over the top of their cubicles. Even the layout of the hallways was familiar to him after years of roaming the corridors. August took a deep breath and let a smile creep over his lips; he was home.

"Officers Anderson," a frazzled sounding suit greeted them just beyond the security checkpoint. "Director Anderson is waiting for you in his office."

Conrad made a sound of understanding. "Get this girl into the interrogation room," he said. "We'll be with her shortly." A pair of agents marched the woman away and she went silently. When the lingering scent of grapefruit had disappeared, August was surprised to feel a sort of sense of loss. Shaking himself, he focused on the sounds of his brothers' footsteps as they started off down a separate hallway.

He tried not to listen to the gossip that was flying between the agents in the bullpens as they passed. Some were trading jokes about how the brothers would be grounded for disobeying their daddy. Some were wondering about the beautiful woman they had brought back with them. But most of what he heard was people telling slightly embellished tales about him and his great victory in the Sri Lankan monastery, of how he had outsmarted his brothers and the entire monastery guard and managed to take the whole place down from within. It seemed like somehow every officer in every department knew what had gone down inside that monastery. August shook his head. For an organization that specialized in secrets, the CIA was horrible at keeping them.

A shiver of tension ran through their group as they reached the office room and August knew they were all thinking the same thing; praise or punishment? Conrad's normally assured steps had become almost hesitant by the time they crossed through the doorframe. "Sir," he said respectfully.

August could actually feel his father's presence in the room. Arthur Anderson gave off an aura of power and control that affected everyone around him. Through years of hard work he had risen to his position at the top, and the way he carried himself and even the way he spoke left no question that his place was deserved. But what August loved most of all was his warmth; beneath the professionalism of his work was a layer of care and compassion that made him a truly wonderful human being. It was that warmth that August had connected to when he had been rescued from the fighting rings, and it was that gentleness that he truly associated with his father.

"My boys," Arthur said slowly, his voice expressionless. August felt both of his brothers quiver again. "It's good to have you home. But I wish it was under different circumstances." All three men shrank back slightly, anticipating what was coming."What were you thinking? Raiding a church? Do you know how many protocols and diplomatic laws you've violated?"

Conrad fidgeted. "Uncle said-"

"Don't try to blame this on your uncle," Arthur said. "He was sent to oversee your mission and do recon. You were the commanding officer. It was your choice to change plans and to ignore the mission you were sent over there to do."

"Yes, sir," Conrad said, trying to hide the dejection in his voice.

"This stupid venture of yours had better turn up some real, actionable proof," Arthur said. "Or it'll be all our heads on the bureaucratic plate."

"I will personally lead the search for the weapons," Conrad chipped in immediately. "I'll fly out again today. We'll scour every inch of that church. I won't set foot on American soil again until those weapons have been found."

Arthur made a hum of assent and then fell silent. Everyone waited on bated breath as he took three large strides across the room, and then he reached out to pat each of his sons on the shoulder. "Reckless as it was, you boys did a good job out there," he said. "Now let's go see this asset you've brought."

The others turned and headed out of the room, but Arthur suddenly caught August by the elbow to hold him back. "August, a quick word," he said. He shut the door behind the others and then turned to face August. Curious, August waited but the only response his father gave was to let out a heavy, tired breath.

"Dad?" August asked uncertainly.

"What happened over there, August?" Arthur asked. August furrowed his brow in confusion. "Of all my boys, I have always been able to count on you to be the one to follow his heart. You have always been the one to do what he knew to be right, and damned with the consequences. What happened to that boy?"

"I don't know what you mean," August said quietly.

Arthur sighed. "Did you think that attacking that monastery was a good idea?"

August flinched and lowered his head, feeling shame creeping up his neck. "No."

"That little boy that I saw in that fighting ring, the one who protected others despite his disadvantage and who was willing to sacrifice himself for what he believed to be right, that little boy was a hero," Arthur said, gripping August's shoulder tightly. "That boy would not have followed something he knew to be wrong. Remember that."

An overwhelming sense of guilt was churning in August's stomach as he nodded. "Yes, father," he said.

"Good." Arthur gave his shoulder one last squeeze and then let his hand drop. "On the other hand," he continued in a lighter tone, "I heard the way you handled yourself in that raid. Great tactical strategy. You impress me more and more each day."

"Thanks, Dad," August said with the shallowest of smiles.

The door groaned slightly as it was opened and then Arthur nudged his elbow against August's arm, letting him grab on for a lead. August could hear Jai and Conrad arguing several yards before his father warned him about the observation room doorway. Arthur cleared his throat slightly and the other two fell silent immediately.

"So this is her, is it?" he asked rhetorically and August felt him move out of his grip to approach the window. "My God she's a looker. How does a pretty girl like that wind up working for terrorists?"

"They ran her prints," Jai said quickly and August smiled at the nearly inaudible disgruntled noise Conrad made. Sibling rivalries never faded, not even with age, and they all liked being the one to give their father the good news. "Turns out she's American, or at least was when she was a kid. Name's Anne Catherine Walker, born in California. Her father was Captain Nicholas Walker, career military, special ops division, died serving his country seven years ago. Shortly after that she dropped off the map. Left on a world tour and never came back. No credit purchases, no travel visas, no IDs, no trail at all until now."

"She's good," Arthur said and there was a hint of admiration in his voice. "Too bad we're better. I'll handle this. You boys have already caused enough international incidents for the week." He slipped back out of the observation room, and a moment later August could hear the sound of the interrogation door closing behind him.

"This girl better spill some really good secrets or we're all going to be strapped to our desks for the next ten years," Jai said, his professional bravado gone without their father in the room.

"I don't know why Uncle didn't back us up," Conrad said, pacing back and forth across the room so his boots thudded heavily. "It wasn't fair of Dad to not hear me out. The raid was Uncle's plan, from his contacts."

"Yeah, and we acted on it without waiting for approval," August said with a shrug. "That sort of makes it our responsibility, don't you think?"

Conrad huffed in irritation. "It was Uncle, were we supposed to not trust him? I'm just sick of Dad constantly berating us like we're children," he said, his pacing coming to an abrupt halt. "It's like if we screw up a job then we'll get grounded to our rooms or something. We're adults. I'm head of this department, and one day I'm going to head this whole agency. He should respect that and stop treating me like a kid."

"You're his son," Uncle Henry's voice joined the conversation, and his patent leather shoes squeaked against the tiles as he stopped in the doorway. "And boss or not, he is always going to treat you as his son. That's his privilege as a father."

"Sorry, Uncle," Conrad said submissively.

"It's all right. It's been a long few days, we're all tired," Henry said. He murmured something that August didn't catch and there was a dull rasp as something was slid across the desk by the wall. "You should all get some rest as soon as you can. This whole thing is only starting."

Conrad sighed heavily. "He's right," he said. All of the fight had gone from him, just leaving him sounding like a man run far past his time. They lapsed into quiet for a minute, and then Conrad shifted. "Dad looks like he could use a drink," he said. There was a clink and the sound of liquid as a glass was poured. "Here, Aug, take this into him."

"Why me?" August asked curiously. Conrad never passed up the opportunity to be helpful and prove himself to their father.

"Because you're the one he's the least mad at," Conrad answered with a forced laugh. "We all know you're his favourite."

August cringed at the veiled contempt in his brother's voice. "That's not true," he said firmly.

"August, I'm too tired to argue with you," Conrad said. "We can bicker about it later. But you're the one who agreed with him about this whole mess, so you're the one he's least pissed at. Let's just leave it at that."

Tapping his fingers against his thigh, August hesitated for a moment and then nodded. He crossed to where he heard Conrad shifting around, and then felt a shallow glass pressed into his outstretched hand, the strong smell of tequila hanging around it. Using the lasers on his other arm to guide himself, he made his way to the next room and slipped in.

"Sorry to interrupt," August said when his father's voice trailed off mid-sentence. "Figured you could use a drink."

Arthur let out a low chuckle. "Thanks," he said and accepted the glass. "Why don't you grab one for Miss Walker here too, if you don't mind? I'm sure she could use a stiff drink."

August nodded and made to leave, but the moment he turned his back, he could tell there was something wrong. A cold chill swept over him that had nothing to do with the air-con and he froze. It was a split second before the premonition made sense. There was a rasp, a cough, a wheeze. The sound of a glass shattering on the floor, followed by a nearly silent gasp of a voice. "August... why?"

"Dad?" August asked in alarm, stretching out a hand imploringly. "Dad, what's wrong?"

"Run." This voice was completely different, the woman, Anne, speaking up clearly and frantically. "Run now."

"What?" August asked in confusion. Then came the sound of a heavy body hitting the tile. "Dad?"

"Let's go!" Anne shouted. August felt a hand close around his arm and tug him toward the door, at the same moment that shouts rose up from the next room. Stunned, he followed as she dragged him to the door and then broke into a run. August ran behind her, taking long awkward strides in an attempt to keep up with her brisk pace.

From behind he could hear his uncle shouting, "Catch him!" _Him?_ Why were they trying to catch him? His father was dying. And then it all clicked into place. His father died, right after August had handed him that glass of Patron. His father was dead and they thought that he had done it.

Horrified, August picked up his pace. He was relying solely on the direction of the woman holding onto his wrist because they were moving far too fast for his bracers to be of any use. Shouts were going up on every side now, people raising the alarm, and Anne made an abrupt turn, pulling him into a side hallway.

"Augs, what's - ?" Stuart's voice called from down the hall ahead of them. The next second a shot rang out, striking the tile near August's foot. "Aug, look out!" August felt something barrel past him in the other direction and then there was a shot, followed by the sickening sound of a bullet compacting through skin. Stu's choked scream followed August like a ghost, although it would be hours before the reality of what he was hearing would truly sink in.

"We've got to jump!" Anne yelled over her shoulder.

"What?" August bellowed in terror.

Anne put on an extra burst of speed, dragging him along. "Jump!" August complied, propelling himself forward on her command. Their bodies collided with a window that quickly gave way beneath the combined weight. In an explosion of glass they fell. August fleetingly thought that he had just jumped to his death...

And then they hit water.

The water wasn't incredibly deep and August felt his legs crumble under him as his feet struck the bottom, although the water absorbed a lot of the shock. He kicked off and felt his head break the surface, and he gulped in a deep breath, sputtering. Water was splashing down onto his head from above and it took him several confused seconds to realize that he was standing in the courtyard fountain. He had gotten so lost following Anne that he hadn't even paid attention to where they were at. Now he could hear her splashing her way toward him.

"C'mon, we've got to move!" she shouted over the sound of the water.

"What?" August asked for what he was sure was the hundredth time in the last two minutes.

"I can get us out of here but you've got to c'mon," Anne said, seizing him by the elbow and tugging. August surrendered to her direction again, letting her lead him to the edge of the fountain and then as they set off at a run again. His clothes were soaked, making his boots that he'd retrieved off the roof of the monastery feel a thousand times heavier and his pants chafe at his skin. Shouts were rising in the distance and August had no idea how on earth they were going to get out of this alive.

The ground suddenly dropped from beneath him, sending August crashing to his knees on what turned out to be asphalt. Anne groaned loudly and jerked at his arm until he staggered upright again and then mercilessly set off running. Just a few yards away she skidded to a stop and yelled, "Get in!"

Confused, August ran his hands over the object in front of him and realized it was a car, an SUV to be precise. He traced the hot metal until he found a handle and then yanked the door open, hurling himself in. By the time he'd shut the door Anne already had the engine roaring - hot-wired if the sound of her muffled grunting from under the dash was any indication - and she pummelled the accelerator. The SUV took off with a jolt, rumbling over a curb and then racing along through the parking lot. August shrank down in his seat as they neared what he knew to be the edge of the property, hastily throwing on a seat belt at the last second. The sound of metal on metal split the air as the car jerked, and then tore through the fence and onto the road.

"We made it," August breathed in awe. He couldn't believe it. They had actually escaped from within the CIA headquarters.

"We're not in the clear yet," Anne said distractedly and the car made a sharp turn. August grimaced as his head banged against the window.

The ride went on for what felt like forever. August sat silently in the passenger seat as Anne drove, pushing the car to its limits as she tried to shake their pursuers. The only sounds that ever came from within the car were Anne cursing under her breath in multiple languages before making a sudden turn or August's gasps of pain when his body was thrown around due to her turns.

"We lost them," Anne announced suddenly, letting the car slow slightly, although still not to a quite socially acceptable speed. "But we've got to get off the road, and fast."

August let out a sigh of relief that instantly caught in his chest as he realised what he was relieved about. His best friend was dead, his father was dead, his family suspected him of murder, and he was a fugitive of the country he had dedicated his life to serving, in the company of a woman who supplied weapons to terrorists, without any clue as to where he was or what he would do next.

As he let himself sink back into the luxury SUVs leather seats, one disjointed, wry thought crossed his mind. _Talk about the day going to hell in a hand basket._


	6. Chapter Four, Instant Replay

**Chapter Four**

"If you don't stop pacing, I'm going to break your legs."

August stopped and turned to scowl in the direction of the woman's voice. She ignored his look and simply said, "Thank you."

After driving for about fifteen minutes longer, Anne had turned off the highway and took a winding path before stopping them in the middle of nowhere. August wasn't quite sure where they were, but there weren't any other people nearby. The place smelled of moisture and plants, and loose leaves and twigs crackled under his feet as he shifted around. They wouldn't be able to stay there long but it was a safe spot to at least stop and collect themselves.

"This is all your fault," he said abruptly. His limbs were quivering with anxiousness and he had to fight the urge to start pacing again. "You and your stupid weapons, that's what started all of this."

"Yes, it's my fault that you razed my monastery and poisoned your father," said Anne, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

"I didn't kill my father," August snapped. Every time he thought about it, his chest seized up painfully, like someone had plunged a burning blade through his sternum and twisted it. He had stood there, just stood there, and listened to his father's last breaths. His choked plea. His horrified accusation. And there had been absolutely nothing that August could have done to stop it, to save him. His father was dead.

All of the energy that had been flooding through him suddenly disappeared and he sat down heavily, letting his head drop into his hands. This had to be some sort of nightmare. Any minute now he would wake up in the jet with a crick in his neck, or maybe even in that seedy Sri Lankan motel room. His entire world couldn't possibly have turned upside down so quickly.

He had been obsessing about it since they had left Langley and there was only one viable answer he could come up with. Conrad. He was the one who had given August the glass of poisoned Patron, he was the first one to shout out the alarm, he was the one who had the most to gain. Conrad was poised to succeed their father as the director and he had always wanted to get out from beneath their father's shadow and prove himself. And he had been convinced that Arthur had loved August the most. By framing August for their father's murder, he would have eliminated two birds with one tequila. The only thing he didn't understand is how he could do it; he knew Conrad was ambitious, but ambitious enough to ruin his own family?

"Do you have a plan from here?" asked Anne. It was sort of irritating how she sounded so casual and passive about this when his whole life was falling apart.

"I know what I should do," said August, lifting his head to glare in her direction. "I should take you back to headquarters. I'll take you back so they can deal with you and then I'll explain what happened with my dad and they can launch a full investigation to prove my innocence. That's what I should do."

"Do you really think it will work that way?" Anne asked with a dry laugh. "That royal upbringing of yours really has you brainwashed. They shot at you just for _suspecting_ you might have killed your father. If you try to waltz back up to those gates they are going to put a bullet in your brain before they even think about asking if you're innocent."

August didn't want to admit that she was right. He knew there was a very poor chance of him making it within a hundred feet of Langley and surviving. "At the least, I should deal with you," he said. "You're a terrorist and I can't let you wander free. If I can't bring you in then you need to be detained."

"Detained?" she echoed in shock. "What do you mean, _detained_?"

August stood up and readied himself, taking a decisive step toward her. "I mean kept in one place until you can be picked up by the proper authorities, that's what I mean," he said.

"You're going to just leave me?" Anne asked. The smell of grapefruit washed over August as she closed the distance between them, so close he could feel the heat radiating from her body. A hand, feather-light and soft as silk, traced the side of his face and August felt his eyelids drift slowly downward at the touch. Her fingertips ran over his cheek, beneath the curve of his ear, along his jawline. His body reacted naturally to the contact, leaning into her touch as his heart rate accelerated. That scent, that vibrant grapefruit smell, was intoxicating him like a drug and he wanted nothing more than to let himself get lost in it. "What if I don't want to leave you?"

Her other hand landed on his waist, caressing his hip bone as she slid her hand around his back to draw him closer. August's breath caught in his throat, his own hands moving without his meaning to, wrapping around her. Her hand settled in the small of his back and as it did it nudged against something that shifted in his belt. Instantly August's eyes snapped open and he reached back to grab her wrist just as her hand closed around the hilt of the dagger he'd taken from the monastery. When he pulled her hand away roughly she let out an angry growl and August heard her scrambling around.

The dull click of the SUV door opening sounded through the air and then August could hear her moving toward him again. A grunt warned him of her attack and he ducked out of the way just in time to avoid being hit. She swiped again, catching him on the arm and leaving a shallow gash. August whipped the dagger from his belt and held it up defensively. He had taken off his wrist bracers to let them dry after his trip into the fountain, so he had to rely solely on his hearing to tell where she was coming from.

A shuffle made August turn and he lifted his arm just in time to protect his face as she jammed the hilt of the knife she was carrying against his wrist. His grip loosened, sending the dagger flying, and he heard it land with a light click on the ground several feet away. Ducking beneath another swing, August bolted forward and slid, running his hands over the stick strewn ground until he found the dagger. He seized it by the handle and twisted to heave himself up, but as he did he felt something on the hilt sink beneath his thumb.

His stomach lurched and that's when everything went weird.

Colour exploded in front of August's eyes. He blinked a few times, stunned by the lights and colours that he hadn't seen in almost two decades. His body was numb and unresponsive, tingling like his muscles had all fallen asleep at once, and he was stuck simply watching as the world spun around him. Everything was a blur of colours overlapping each other. He didn't know if the objects were blurred because it had been so long since his eyes had had to focus on anything or if it was some side effect of whatever magic had brought his sight back.

He watched on a backdrop of dark colours as two figures of golds and yellows moved in backward motion. One figure was far taller than the other, the tallest one topped with dark curls while the shorter one was wreathed in a wave of bright golden. Their faces were indistinct but it was enough for August to guess what he was seeing; himself and the woman named Anne. He saw the two lunging at and ducking away from each other. A splash of bright red appeared and then disappeared as the knife swung backwards over his forearm. Anne turned and ran to the SUV, tucked the knife beneath the seat, and then ran back to August, circling her arms around his waist.

With a second, tremendous lurch, as if he had just pulled his parachute during a free fall, the feeling returned to August's limbs and the world went black again.

"What if I don't want to leave you?" purred Anne, moving her hand around his waist to his back.

Reeling, August grabbed her wrist on instinct and shoved her away from him. What in the hell had just happened? He had been able to see, actually see things. He had seen people moving, watching the scene play out in front of him. And now it was as if none of that had ever happened.

Distantly he registered the sounds of Anne moving but he didn't process any of it. He had _seen_. That worthless dagger he'd taken from the monastery had given him his sight back, if only for a few seconds. It was a miracle.

Pain exploded in August's chest and he staggered back a step, placing a hand on his chest. The skin was split in a narrow, deep hole and hot blood was coursing from him, the metallic scent in the air making him cough. He stumbled, his head swimming, and his knees buckled beneath him.

"Give me the dagger back!" Anne shouted from above him.

The dagger. It had taken him backwards once, maybe it would do it again. He grabbed it from his belt, held it the way he remembered and then pressed down with his thumb. What felt like a jewel at the tip of the hilt gave in under the pressure.

Lurching again, August was thrown back into the limbo land full of colours The red faded away as he watched himself stand, and when Anne's figure moved backwards his followed it. He could make out the vague features of his own face, with the ears he had never quite grown into and the dark eyes. Anne's face, however, was still just a blur of light shielded by a wreath of golden hair. Far sooner than he would have liked, August was hurled back into his body and swallowed by the usual darkness again.

"You're going to just leave me?" Anne pouted incredulously. Her steps were light as she walked up to him and the smell of her grapefruit swept around him. August grabbed her wrist before she could touch him, taking a hasty step backward. Her other hand swiped at his waist but he grabbed that one as well.

"Don't you dare go for that dagger again," he warned.

"Again?" Anne asked in confusion. She broke free of his grip and took a few shuffling steps back. "What do you mean, _again_?"

August pulled the dagger from his waistband and then turned himself to face her more directly. This time he wanted to see her face, see if she was really as beautiful as everyone said. Bracing himself, he pressed the jewel.

Nothing happened.

Confused, he pressed it twice more. "It's not working," he said.

Anne let out a furious noise. "You've used up all the sand," she said, grabbing his wrist so she could look at the blade.

"Sand?" asked August, turning the blade around in his palms. He had no idea what she meant by that but he was starting to get a loose picture of what was happening. "Pressing the jewel makes time turn backwards," he mused aloud. "But only the person holding it remembers. This is incredible."

"It's an ancient magical artefact that needs to be protected," Anne spat furiously. "It's not to be played with by an idiot soldier boy."

August pointedly ignored her. "This is it, this dagger is the answer to everything," he said. "This is what Conrad wanted, that's why he tried to get me to give it to him at the monastery. That's why he wanted me caught so badly. With this dagger, he could be the most powerful agent in the history of this country. He would be able to know when evidence is actionable and to act on the most important missions with a sure chance of success. This was his plan all along."

Tucking the blade back into his belt, August walked to the SUV and picked up his bracers, strapping them back on. As he turned them on Anne said, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Away from here, first of all," he said, starting off in the direction of the road they had come off of. "This car's CIA property, it's probably got satellite tracking. If we don't ditch it soon, they'll be on to us again. And then once I get a new ride, I'm going back to Langley."

"What?" said Anne, jogging to catch up with him. "Are you insane?"

"A little," August admitted with a nonchalant shrug. "But I need to get back. I have to talk to my uncle Henry. Conrad has betrayed me and Jai is too close to him to be trusted. My uncle is the only hope I have left. I have to tell him what's going on. He can help me fix it."

"Then give me the dagger," demanded Anne. "It's rightfully mine, it's my duty to protect it."

"Not happening," said August. "I need it to prove my story to my uncle. The dagger stays with me."

Anne grabbed his elbow and spun him around to face her. He could feel her angry glare burning into his skin. "I am not letting that dagger out of my sight."

August slipped his arm from her grip and started walking again, calling over his shoulder, "Okay, princess, I won't complain if you want to stare at my ass the whole way back. Just try not to walk into a wall or anything."

There was a moment of silence, an irate groan, and then Anne ran to catch up with him again.


	7. Chapter Five, A Change of Plans

**Chapter Five**

The decrepit highway they were walking along was almost completely deserted. Apparently Anne had driven them way out into the middle of nowhere. Although they'd been walking for over an hour, they had only been passed by two cars, one of which was a creaking semi that had smelled of animals. They walked in silence, August focusing on the sounds of the environment and Anne occasionally making loud, frustrated noises that he ignored.

"This is a terrible idea," Anne suddenly chipped in from behind.

August rolled his eyes. "It's not my fault you didn't hide us out next to a car lot," he said, sidestepping to avoid something large that had fallen across the pathway in front of him. Judging by the smell of damp wood, it was a collapsed tree.

"Not that," she said. "Although now that you mention it, this isn't the greatest idea either. I mean going back to Langley. You're walking right back into the lion's den. You really are arrogant, aren't you? Thinking that you can just walk back in and everyone will listen to you. That CIA royal upbringing really has given you an ego. Strutting around like you own the world, expecting everyone to listen and do as you say. Obviously nothing in the world is as great as the Anderson prodigy child."

Something inside of him snapped and August wheeled around. "I'm not an Anderson," he said. "Not by blood. I wasn't born into this family or into this upbringing. Not like you and your army princess life. I lived on the streets until I was seven, when I was kidnapped and brought into an underground fighting league, where I lived so long as I fought for it. I was born no one, with no family and no name and no future."

"Then how did you get here?" Anne asked. "How did you become one of them?"

"I don't know," August admitted. "I just - one day Arthur showed up at the fighting ring. He had come to shut them down, and to get us kids out of there. I got hurt trying to keep one of the other kids safe and Arthur was there to watch out for me. And when it was all over, he offered me a home. I don't know why he chose me but he did. He took me home with him, had me treated and cared for, and then he just adopted me." He could tell that he had thoroughly stunned Anne into silence, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to just leave well enough alone, so he added, "And I'm not strutting. I walk like that because I'm blind." With a condescending smirk, he turned and started walking again.

"Whoa, wait, what?" Anne grabbed him by the elbow to stop him. "What do you mean, you're blind?"

August lifted a hand and waved it in front of his face energetically. "That's what I mean," he answered.

"But how is that possible?" she asked. "You walk around fine and I've seen you run and fight and defend yourself, and those are all things that a blind guy can't do."

"Actually, yes, a blind person can," he said. "With a little technology and a very strong sense of intuition, I can do just about anything that you can. Except drive. For some reason they still won't give me a license."

"This is unreal," Anne said. "I don't believe you."

August arched an eyebrow and chuckled. "You're a priestess guarding a dagger that can turn back time, but an overly perceptive blind guy is unreal? And I thought politicians were hypocrites." He started walking again and this time Anne fell into step beside him. They moved in silence for a moment before Anne tentatively spoke up.

"How...?" She trailed off but August grimaced, knowing where the question was going. It was always the same way.

"It happened in a fight when I was in the rings," he explained. "One minute I'm getting ready to take down this kid twice my size, the next I'm being hurled against a concrete wall. And then I woke up as Ray Charles."

Anne made a startled noise. "Oh. Actually I was just going to ask how you use technology to help you," she said timidly.

"Oh?" August asked in surprise. Was she serious? Whenever anyone found out he was blind the first thing they asked was how it happened. Always. It was some sort of natural, morbid curiosity. But she had only wanted to know what kind of technology he used. He was starting to wonder if maybe he'd misinterpreted this woman. "Oh. Well my biggest help are these bracers. They use laser locating to tell me when something comes closer to me. Sort of like echolocation, but with light instead of sound. It helps me move around without a big white cane and pretty much stops me from running into things or tripping over them."

Never breaking her stride, Anne took his arm and pushed his sleeve up to his elbow, examining the bracer with light touches. "Fascinating," she said. She moved a hand in front of his, making the bracer vibrate, and then slowly moved it away so the vibration settled. "Those must have cost a pretty penny."

"I'm sure," August said with a small shrug. "Just another one of the great things my dad did for me to make my life better." His smile faltered and he lowered his head slightly, the thoughts of his father prodding the angry wound in his chest and sending a new wave of pain through him.

Anne's hand touched his arm gently. "I'm sorry about your father."

"Me too," said August, and he nodded shallowly. Then, with a quick, calming breath, he focused all of his attention on the path ahead of him.

. . . . .

It was just starting to get cool outside when they finally reached civilisation in the form of a dusty little diner and gas station set off the side of the highway. The air smelled strongly of petrol and coffee and dirt. A quick sweep with his arm gave him the vague outline of three cars parked alongside the diner, and jukebox music was coming through the door that had been propped open against the summer heat.

"_The Hideaway House_," Anne read aloud and then laughed quietly. "That's fitting."

"Keep an eye out in there," August warned. "If you see anyone suspicious, tell me and we will get the hell out. And especially watch for blue blazers and tan pants. Those are feds. They aren't subtle, and they won't be afraid to shoot now and ask questions later."

"Yeah, because we don't attract enough attention on our own without people shooting at us," said Anne.

August paused and frowned. "Are you still wearing your I Dream of Jeanie clothes?" he asked.

"My what?" Anne asked, bewildered. "I'm wearing my nightgown, if that's what you mean."

"That's what you wear to bed?" August asked and then smirked, letting out a low whistle. "_Nice_." He staggered sideways a little when Anne slapped his shoulder. "Ow, okay, sorry. But really we can't go in there with you showing off that much skin. You'll give people aneurysms." Suddenly grateful that he'd gotten the chance to change on the airplane home, August slipped out of his dress shirt and held it out in her direction, leaving him in just his jeans and a thin teeshirt. "Put this on. It'll draw less attention than your lingerie."

Anne humphed but she took the shirt from him. "This still looks ridiculous," she said and he heard the rustling of fabric as she rolled the sleeves up several times.

"Well I'm sorry," August said sarcastically. "The next time we pass a Victoria's Secret we can step in so you can find something more your style." She didn't answer, but he barely caught her murmured, "smart ass." He smiled. "C'mon, I don't know about you but I'm starving and we need to get our travel plan laid out." He led the way into the diner, which smelled heavily of grease and bodies even though it was mostly deserted. Taking a seat on one of the vinyl barstools, August leaned his elbows on the counter and waited.

"Hey there, sugars, what can I getcha?" A waitress who smelled like violets and flour had approached them from behind the counter.

"A hot coffee and the biggest, best cheeseburger you have," August said, flashing the woman a charming smile. She gave a little giggle and then he heard the scratch of pen on paper.

"I'll have the same, please," Anne said.

"Alrighty, I'll be right back with your coffees," the waitress said and then her steps shuffled away.

"Do you flirt with everything that has legs?" Anne asked.

August cocked an eyebrow. "Excuse me for being nice to people," he said. "Maybe I should try your passive aggressive approach, that seems to be so much more effective."

"I'm not passive aggressive," Anne said defensively.

"And I might add," August continued, "it's a little ironic getting called a flirt by the woman who's been running around in her nightgown."

"I'm sorry, I didn't exactly have time to consider my wardrobe while my home was under attack," said Anne, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's my fault. I'll take more care next time."

August rolled his eyes but didn't respond. If he was honest, he didn't have a good response, but he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she'd beat him. He was saved by the arrival of their coffees. His fingers brushed across the countertop until he found the sugar packets and then added some to his drink. The caffeine felt good as it slipped into his system, rejuvenating his flagging energy. He hadn't really had time to stop and think about it yet with the non-stop motion, but he was exhausted. If he didn't get to rest soon mistakes were going to start being made. And in his line of work, or especially in his current status as national fugitive, mistakes were fatal.

"What's the next step?" Anne asked. There was something in her tone of voice that made him think that she wasn't actually curious about their travel plans, just wanted to make sure that he didn't get away from her. For some reason that made him smile. She was definitely smart.

"We need a ride," August answered, keeping his responses simple and vague, if only to infuriate her. "Once we get that, then it's just getting back to DC."

"Here's your lunch, hon," the waitress said and the smell of grease was strong as she set two heavy plates down on the tile counter. August's stomach rumbled eagerly and he was pretty sure his grateful 'thanks' was a little overdone, but he didn't care. He was starving. Without pre-empting, he took an enormous bite of the hamburger. He was pretty sure he heard Anne mutter, "disgusting," before she started eating her own food. August didn't care; he was in grease-laden, American diner food heaven.

They ate in silence for several minutes, August listening for signs of trouble as he enjoyed his delicious dinner. He heard an elderly couple come into the diner, bickering about asking for directions. The woman called her husband a terrible driver, and he called her a vicious nag. August was still chuckling to himself about it when they made up over their dinners.

Then something caught his attention and he immediately dropped the French fry that was halfway too his mouth. "Excuse me, ma'am, could you turn that up please?" he asked, gesturing in the direction of the little television set in the corner above the counter.

"Sure thing, sweets," the waitress replied and then the volume on the news report rose.

"_...appears the authorities are calling it natural causes and refuse to answer questions about a possible manhunt. The death of Director Anderson has shaken up the government branch. His position is being filled by his eldest son, Conrad Anderson, who refused to comment on the situation before leaving the country on other business. Arthur Anderson was most well-known for being the director to bring the CIA into a new age of transparency that involved less of the secretive nature the agency is famous for. Funeral services are to take place in three days time in Anderson's hometown, although the exact location has not been disclosed for security purposes._

"_And next in news, it seems like the NFL is going to be doing a little shaking up of its own this weekend..._"

August stopped paying attention at this point. "They're taking him home," he said in awe.

"Isn't that what they usually do with people when they die?" Anne asked, her wry sarcasm creeping back in. "But what does that mean for us?"

"Uncle's going to be at the funeral," August said. "Which means that that's where we need to be too. It'll be easier to get to him away from Langley."

"One problem with that though," Annie said. "They didn't say where they're holding this funeral."

August chuckled. "You think I don't even know where my own father was born?" he asked. "Change of plans. Now, we're heading to Arkansas."


	8. Chapter Six, Cover Stories

**Chapter Six**

The little sedan that they had stolen from the diner parking lot had no air conditioning and August was quite certain he was going to die before they could make it halfway to their destination. Even having given his dress shirt to Anne, the heat was making his teeshirt cling to his skin. He distractedly regretted the fact that the majority of his wardrobe consisted of black, even if it made coordinating outfits easier on him. The midmorning sun blazing in through the windscreen was going to bake him alive.

"Where are we?" August asked curiously in the direction of the driver's seat.

"North Carolina," she answered. "Still close to the coastline, like you said. Although _why_ I don't know, since Arkansas is inland, in case you weren't aware."

"As soon as that old couple we nicked this car from report it missing, the CIA is going to be all over it," August explained. "They'll be keeping an eye out for stolen cars in the area. If they find this car, I don't want them to guess where we're headed. Staying close to the coast and heading south will make them think we're heading for Florida and the Caribbean. It's the quickest and easiest way out of the country."

"So why aren't we actually heading there?" Anne asked. "That sounds like a better plan to me." August didn't even bother to dignify that with a response, because she knew well enough why. "So if they're looking for this car then why are we still in it?" she asked, changing tracts.

"Just a few miles more," August assured her. "We've got to keep going this way long enough to make them think we're actually heading for the border. Then we'll ditch the car and head for Arkansas."

"Where do you come up with all of these ridiculous plans?" Anne asked and she sounded torn between impressed and exasperated.

"It's CIA protocol," August said with a shrug. "Always travel unpredictably. It makes you harder to follow."

Anne gave another derisive snort, but just kept driving. After a few long silent minutes there was a click and the radio flared into life. There was a jumble of noise and static as she scanned through several channels. August was just about to tell her to give it up when she settled on a channel playing a jazz number. She hummed along as she went back to driving.

"You like Mingus?" August asked in surprise.

"Yeah," Anne said unconcernedly. "I was at the Mingus tribute concert in Stockholm. It was amazing."

What were the odds? Did she even realize she'd just turned the station to his favourite artist? August didn't even want to think about the insane coincidence there. Instead he kept the topic on her. "So you haven't always been the princess of the time-turner knife then?"

Anne snorted again, a decidedly unladylike gesture. "Yes, because I'm sure you didn't already know that," she said pointedly. "No doubt you read my file the moment you were inside your headquarters."

"Well I didn't read it personally," August said unashamedly. "But one of my brothers gave me the bullet points."

"So that means you know as much about me as I know about you," Anne finished. "Now would you stop talking? I like this song." She turned up the volume, effectively drowning him out. August had a small smile on his face as he leaned back in the seat and tried to ignore the heat.

Two hours later they stopped in a small town near the state line between North and South Carolina. They left the car in a parking lot across the street from a used car shop. August hoped the Agency would assume they'd taken one of those cars to continue their journey. At least it would serve as a brief wild goose chase at best. "Okay, first order of business is to get you some new clothes that don't look like lingerie," August said. Anne made an indignant noise but he noticed she didn't exactly argue. "The first clothing store you see," he said. "Lead the way, princess."

"I told you not to call me that," she growled, but she set off walking regardless. August grinned as he fell into step beside her. They had hardly gone a block before Anne let out another noise, this one exasperated. "You look ridiculous walking with your arms swinging like that. People are staring." August narrowed his eyes, annoyed by her comment, but it quickly turned to surprise when she grabbed his wrist and placed his hand on the inside of her bicep. Even though he was shocked, he took the lead. "There, now you look less like a tool."

"I'm touched that you're so concerned," August drawled sarcastically.

"I'm not," Anne replied calmly. "I just don't want to be the woman walking down the street with the tool." She was annoying as hell, but he had to admit she was funny.

The air conditioning inside the store felt nice after the humid summer outside when Anne led him into a store. It was an open area, judging by the echoes, and there was soft instrumental music playing in the background. A department store, if he had to hazard a guess.

"I hope you're paying," Anne said as they walked down a tiled pathway.

"So long as you don't go overboard," he replied. "I only have so much money to get us to Arkansas. And try to pick something low profile, would you?"

"Says the man wearing big black wrist braces," Anne retorted wryly.

Ignoring the comment, August said, "Is there a bench nearby? I really don't feel like following you around while you shop." Anne changed their direction slightly and after a minute she stopped, setting his hand on the back of a cushioned bench.

"The fitting rooms are over to your four o'clock, so it'll be easy for me to find you when I'm done," Anne said. "Try not to wander, would you?"

"Same to you," August said to her retreating back. He settled down in the comfortable bench and allowed himself to relax. He knew that she wouldn't run off, not so long as her magical dagger was still tucked into the waistband of his jeans. So instead he closed his eyes and let his tired muscles unwind.

"Can I help you with something, sir?" The woman's voice startled him out of a half-doze and he scrambled to regain his composure.

"No, I'm fine," he said quickly. "Just waiting for my girlfriend. She takes forever when it comes to picking new clothes, but it's her birthday so..." He trailed off and shrugged, using his body language to finish, 'what can ya do?'

"Sorry, honey," Anne cut in abruptly. He smirked at the endearment. "I didn't mean to take so long but it was so hard to pick between these two tops, they were both so divine."

"It's all right, princess, it's your birthday," August said breezily. "Are you ready to go then?" When Anne made a noise of assent he stood and held out a hand expectantly. Anne promptly nudged it with her elbow so he could take her lead. Once they'd paid for the clothes - an amusing event since Anne was already wearing them, so the flustered cashier had to scan the loose tags she'd broken off the clothes and new pair of trainers - they'd slipped back out into the summer heat.

"Where now, oh knowing one?" Anne asked.

"Bus station," August answered. "We've got to keep moving."

"We drove all the way through the night," Anne groaned. "I haven't slept since the plane."

"And I haven't slept in longer than that," August replied. "We can sleep on the bus, but we have to leave. I don't want to be here when they come for our stolen car, do you?" Anne still didn't seem pleased but she started moving again. After getting directions from a passerby they walked to the centre of town.

The bus terminal wasn't very crowded, but August still kept close to Anne's side and used his other hand to do a floor sweep as they walked to the ticket counter.

"Two tickets to Florida, please," August said. Anne stirred next to him but thankfully didn't say anything. When the cashier gave him the total he handed over his credit card to pay.

"Your bus leaves in an hour," the cashier said as he handed them their tickets.

"Wonderful, just enough time to eat before we leave," August said as Anne pulled them out of the queue.

"What were you thinking?" Anne hissed the moment they were out of earshot of the cashier. "Using a credit card? And I thought we were going to Arkansas."

"We are," August said confidently. "The bus will inevitably stop in between to pick up more passengers. That's where we'll get off and change buses. I used my card so they would pick up the trail and still think we're heading for the border. By the time the bus stops in Jacksonville and they realize we're not on board, we'll already be in Arkansas." There was a stunned silence. "Glad you can appreciate my genius. Now really, where's the nearest food joint? I'm starving."

Anne led him to a McDonald's across the street from the station, and they sat down to a meal of cheap fast food at one of the shaded outdoor tables. The cheeseburgers were nothing spectacular, but August treated himself by dipping his French fries into a chocolate milkshake, savouring the salty and sweet contrast. "That's so weird," Anne commented after a minute.

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," August said in a sing-song voice, twirling another French fry through the creamy drink before popping it in his mouth. Anne gave an annoyed humph but didn't answer, so he went back to eating his food in peace. At least for a minute.

"So what's the plan once we get to Arkansas?" Anne asked.

"Go to the funeral and find my uncle," August said simply.

Anne groaned and he could practically feel her rolling her eyes at him. "Not much for planning ahead, are you?"

"Oh I always have a plan," August countered. "I just very rarely share them with others. It's all part of my mystique. You'll learn to live with it eventually."

"I highly doubt I could ever learn to live with you," Anne said flatly. August smirked and went back to his food. Whether it was gross fast food or not, he wasn't sure when the next time they'd be able to stop and eat was so he made himself enjoy it. CIA operatives didn't survive too long by being picky eaters.

The bus station was even more crowded when they went back in to board their bus. They were pushed around in a queue by impatient travellers and August clung tightly to Anne's arm so they didn't get separated. He really wasn't a fan of crowds. "Steps," Anne warned when they reached the bus and he climbed carefully, using her directions. The inside of the bus was noisy with people choosing seats and settling their belongings in. Anne led him by the hand down the aisle and he tried not to trip over feet or bag straps that were hanging out into walkway.

"Here we go, Auggie," Anne said. Her voice had taken on an endearing sweetness suddenly and she practically cooed as she stopped them beside a row of seats. "There's an empty spot here."

"You go ahead and slide in first, princess," August said, mimicking her flirtatious tone. "I know how much you like the window seat." Anne gave a playful hum and then slid into the seat, and August sat down on the bench beside her. Really, he just wanted her where she wouldn't be able to make a break for it. He would be able to get by without her, that wasn't the problem, but she was the one who knew so much about the magic dagger and he wanted to keep her around to answer his questions. Besides, she might be able to help him convince his uncle.

Anne hummed again and she looped her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder. "So, I'm _Auggie_ now?" he asked under his breath.

"I figured a couple should have cute nicknames for each other, right?" Anne said. "Makes the cover more believable. Isn't that what your fancy training says?"

August couldn't hide his amusement as he whispered back, "Don't be a smart ass, Annie Dearest. It doesn't become you. Unlike this silky tank top, which I must say feels pretty sexy."

"Pervert," Anne muttered but there wasn't much conviction behind it and he could feel her pleased smile against his bicep. "Just don't get handsy and we won't have any problems."

"Blind guys are nothing but handsy," August replied matter-of-factly. "Especially with their girlfriends."

Anne was saved from responding by the driver announcing that the bus was getting ready to leave. There was a crush of noise as people began scrambling to take their seats, and a minute later the engine ground into life, making the entire bus vibrate as it began to pull them out of the station. August leaned his head back on the rest and closed his eyes, letting himself relax again for a few minutes. In a while they'd have to get off the bus and find another one, but for now he was just going to finally catch up on that missing sleep.


	9. Chapter Seven, Getting to Know You

**Chapter Seven**

The loud crackling voice over the intercom jerked August awake and he blinked bemusedly, listening to his surroundings and trying to remember where he was. A woman's voice announced that they were pulling into the bus station in Atlanta, Georgia. It all came back to him at once and he remembered. On a bus toward Florida, to trick his brothers into thinking he was fleeing the country. How had he forgotten that?

Feeling tension in his back from slouching in the seat, he tried to straighten up, but there was a pressure on his shoulder that made him pause. Warm, soft, and it smelled like – grapefruit. Anne. He could hear her slow breathing and realised that she was still asleep, her head resting on his shoulder with her arm wound through his. August smiled to himself before shrugging his shoulder gently to wake her.

"C'mon princess, time to get up," he said playfully. Anne grumbled and twisted her head, burying her face in the crease between his arm and the chair. He chuckled. "Annie, wake up. We should get out and stretch our legs while the bus is stopped."

"The bus stopped?" she murmured, her voice muffled because she hadn't moved her head from her hiding spot.

"Yes, and I really want to get out and walk around a bit before the bus heads on to Florida," August said pointedly. Anne moaned but she finally sat up and he felt her stretching against his side. "Morning, Sunshine."

"Shut up," Anne grumbled back, still stretching her arms up over her head. August smirked and made to stand up, but Anne grabbed him by the shoulder. "Watch out, honey, don't want to run into those people." August froze and heard a couple people shuffle passed him in the aisle, and then Anne released him and let him stand up completely.

"Thanks," he said quietly as she stood up in front of him. He could practically feel the smug smile she gave him.

"That's what I'm here for, _sweetie_," she said, putting far too much emphasis on the last word.

August fought not to smile. "Don't overdo it there," he said. Anne just giggled quietly to herself as she took his hand and led him off the bus. It seemed impossible but the temperature had only gotten higher and as they stepped off the bus sweat broke out over August's forehead. "Is there a place to sit and eat, preferably with air conditioning?"

"There's a deli down the street," Anne responded. "Or another fast food place."

"The deli," August said immediately. "I think I've had my fill of cheeseburgers for a while." Anne laughed and moved his hand to her elbow, taking the lead. "You know, you're very good at this," he added. Next to him she made a curious noise. "Leading, I mean. Most people can't quite grasp the concept of it. Not even people who've been around me for years. You know someone who's blind?"

"No one but you," Anne said and he felt the rise and fall of her arm as she shrugged. "I just kind of go along with whatever seems right."

August nodded thoughtfully, pondering at the fact that his hand seemed to fit so well into the curve of her elbow. It was almost frightening to him how well they worked together. He didn't know the woman very well, but they moved together like they'd known each other for years. It was creepy.

The deli was comfortable and cool when they slipped in, full of soft scents and blues music. Anne left him at a table and then went up to the counter with the folded bills he handed her, coming back with two sandwiches and drinks, and a large blueberry muffin. "You know a girl with a healthy appetite is pretty sexy," he remarked with a smirk when he smelt the treat. A pickle slice hit him in the cheek. "Oh that's mature."

"So is your juvenile flirting," Anne retorted but he could hear her smile.

"Man, a guy can't even pay a girl a compliment without having his motives questioned," August said, shaking his head. "What has this world come to?"

"Are you always this dramatic?" Anne asked sarcastically. "So is this where we change trains?"

August nodded, his mouth full of pastrami and provolone. He swallowed and took a sip of his iced tea before answering, "Unless we want to ride on down to Jacksonville and meet the spooks waiting for us there. We'll hop on a bus to Little Rock and then cut through Ouachita to Mena."

"Ouachita?" Anne asked and now she sounded sceptical. "The forest?"

"We can either cut through the forest or we can go out and around and take so long we miss the funeral," August pointed out with a shrug. "It'll save us time. There are roads that go through the forest and connect to the towns inside it. We'll get a car when we leave the bus and drive straight through."

"I've heard of that place though," Anne said. "People disappear there."

"How do you hear stories like that all the way out there on your little island?" August asked in surprise.

Anne shifted uncomfortably before answering. "The man who brought me into the monastery loved stories about mysterious places around the world," she explained. "He researched them all, came up with theories to explain them and made plans to visit them all. The Bermuda Triangle, the hills of the Galapagos, the Bonneville Salt Flats. Anything that was strange interested him."

"So he told you stories about the Ouachita forest?" August asked. The furtive way she'd spoken about this man from the monastery made him curious but he felt perhaps those were questions to press for another time.

"And about the people who disappeared deep in the forest and were never heard from again," she continued. "And about the way all technology fails inside those trees, so no one can get contact in or out. That's the place we're going to go into?"

"Yes, that would be the place," August agreed. She gave a derisive snort. "What are you so panicky about? They're just stories, princess."

"If you don't stop calling me that, I'm going to stab you with this fork," she threatened darkly. August chuckled at the weak venom in her voice. She might not want to admit it, but the nickname was growing on her.

"Alright, fine, I'll stick to Annie then. Is that better?" he asked, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender that was slightly ruined by his amused smirk. When she didn't give some sort of angry retort he figured he was in the clear again. "So tell me about your family?"

"What? Why?" Anne asked suspiciously and he could practically feel all of her defensive walls shooting up again.

"You know about my family, I just thought maybe you could tell me about yours," August said simply. "It's going to be a long trip, we might as well chat about something."

Anne seemed to consider him for a long minute. "I was born in California, but my dad was career military so we moved around a lot," she said in a tone of forced calm. "Never stayed in one place for more than a year or two. I loved it though; loved getting to see so many different places and cultures. Dad got killed when they deployed him to the Middle East. His team was ambushed and he died saving the rest of his team. I was seventeen. The minute I turned eighteen I left and started travelling."

"What about the rest of your family?" August asked curiously. "Do you have a mom, or siblings?"

"Mom's living in Connecticut near her family," Anne said. "She went back there after Dad died. I have a sister too, an older sister. Last I heard she's in Virginia, married and settled down with a family of her own. I haven't spoke to either of them since I left."

August set his sandwich back down in surprise. "All those years without talking to your family? How'd you manage it?"

"I was never much of a homebody," Anne said with a soft chuckle. "Mom and Dani, they're more of the classic domestic housewife type. They never really understood me and my love of adventure and independence. We never did get along very well. Dad was the only one I was close to and once he was gone I didn't have much reason to hang around anymore and listen to them telling me how I needed to settle down." She paused and then asked, "What about you? You're close to your family?"

"Yes, or at least I was," August admitted. "I thought we were close. The last couple days have changed those thoughts for me though."

"None of you look alike," she said and he could hear the amusement in her voice.

"So I've heard," August said and laughed. "It's not surprising. I mean, I'm adopted after all. And Conrad and Jai have different mothers. Dad married Conrad's mom and then she was hurt in an op gone wrong. She died not long after from medical complications. Then a couple years later he met Jai's mom in India, she was an asset of his and they fell in love. They were together for a few years until a terrorist attack took her out too. Even though we all know he's - he was - in love with the head of the Tech department, he never did marry again after that."

"I can't imagine why," Anne said wryly. "How could a person even dream of having a family working for the CIA? It sounds like a nightmare."

"Family is what makes it all worth it," August said and shrugged again. "Having people you care about, it gives you something worth fighting for and worth protecting. Dad always said that the bonds of brothers are the sword that defends our country."

"What about the sisters?" Anne asked playfully.

August laughed and shook his head. "That's a non-item in my family," he explained. "There hasn't been an Anderson girl in generations apparently."

Anne hummed. "No wonder this country is falling apart," she said. "Generations of men as smarmy and obnoxious as you. I'm glad I left."

"You know you love me," August said, winking at her over the rim of his iced tea. Anne scoffed and then went back to her dinner. They ate in silence until Anne had picked up the last crumbs of the blueberry muffin which she'd refused to share with him. "We should get back to the station and find ourselves a ride out of here."

"It's getting late, do you think they'll have one this time of night?" Anne asked. August pressed his watch and was surprised to hear it chime out that it was after eight o'clock in the evening.

"Let's hope so," he said grimly. "Otherwise we'll have to find a place to stay here in town and pray that no one catches up to us before we can get out of here." He took her arm and they walked back down the street to the bus station. The bus they'd come down on had already continued its journey to Florida. When August stopped at the ticket counter he was informed that the next bus to Arkansas wouldn't be leaving until early morning. He sighed but bought the tickets, this time paying for them with cash so they wouldn't be traced.

"Find us a motel," August said when he and Anne had stepped back out onto the street. "We can lay low and get some sleep before we have to catch that bus."

"I won't complain about sleep," Anne muttered as she set off walking. August chuckled his agreement. The little nap he'd taken on the bus hadn't rejuvenated him as much as he'd hoped. He wouldn't turn down the opportunity to actually lie down and get some real sleep while they had the chance.

Anne steered them to a Motel 8 off the main road and August rented a bedroom for them. The only one available was a single, queen-sized bed, but he'd taken it and given Anne the room number to lead the way. When she let them in she stopped abruptly and he collided with her back. "One bed, Anderson, really?" she asked and he could hear her exasperation.

"Don't flatter yourself, I'm not trying to seduce you," August said, rolling his eyes. "It was the only room they had. It's a queen size, plenty of room for the both of us, so calm down."

Anne huffed and walked around to the other side of the room. "Just keep your hands to yourself," she said and then he heard the bathroom door shut behind her. He smirked and stretched out on the bed, nearly moaning as he sank into the mattress. God that felt so much better than sitting on a bus bench all afternoon. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of running water coming from the shower.

The feeling of the mattress dipping woke him back up from his half-sleep, and he could smell moist skin and generic shampoo as Annie sat down on the opposite side of the bed. "Did you leave me any hot water?" he asked jokingly.

"Absolutely not," Anne replied without missing a beat. August smirked and regrettably hauled himself up off the mattress, heading for the bathroom. He walked the room once, using his bracers to get a basic sweep of the place, and then ran his fingers over the inside of the shower, checking the still wet contents to get his bearings. With that done he stripped down and climbed into the water, which was thankfully still at least luke warm. It felt so good to wash away the last few days, not having really gotten to shower since the afternoon before the monastery raid. Not to mention it made him smell considerably better.

Once he'd towelled off and replaced his jeans he wandered back out into the bedroom. He could hear Anne sitting on the bed, and the low drone of a television from the other side of the room reading out a dull news report. August headed around to the other side of the bed and sat down, laying his teeshirt on the floor beside the bed along with his shoes and bracers.

"What's with the tattoo?" Anne asked curiously as he pivoted to get up on the bed. August froze, his jaw setting firmly. He could still remember what the tattoo looked like, even though he hadn't seen it in ages. A thin grey sword ran halfway down his spine, with embellished red ribbons around it, spanning between his shoulder blades. Even now he could remember the pain of it, the way the Boss' men had pinned him down while another man etched the tattoo into his back with that sharp, burning needle. It had taken hours and he'd screamed himself hoarse through the gag in his mouth. His skin had seared for days afterward, and then they'd taken him down again to have the outline filled in with colours The burning in his skin was not the sort of pain he would soon forget, and the tattoo remained as a tribute to the life he couldn't hide from no matter how hard he tried.

"It was my name in the fighting rings," he answered evenly, trying not to betray the turmoil of memories that had flooded up in him at the mention of it. "The Sabre."

"They did that to you as a kid?" Anne asked and her voice was torn between awe and horror.

"They did it to all of us," August answered tersely. Not wanting to talk about it anymore, he slid out of his jeans and climbed beneath the covers, facing away from her and closing his eyes. After a minute the television turned off and he felt Anne slide in on the other side. The room fell into quiet as he laid thinking about the strange turns his life had taken.

Just as he was drifting off, he realised that even though she'd showered, Anne still smelled like grapefruit.


	10. Chapter Eight, Tense Relationships

**Chapter Eight**

August groaned and rolled over, not wanting to be awake even as his mind crawled further toward awareness. It had felt so good to finally really relax. It seemed like it had been ages since he'd gotten a good night of sleep, and the comfortable mattress and air conditioned room were like Eden. He dragged the hem of the tangled blanket back up over his shoulders, determined to get a little more sleep.

Except he couldn't do that. His mind was warning him, reminding him that he had a bus to catch soon. He wasn't sure exactly what time it was, but since his alarm hadn't gone off yet then he must still have time. Dragging his arm out from beneath his pillow he pressed a button on his watch and it recited, "Five-thirty-eight a-m."

"Shit," he cursed, bolting upright. The bus left at six. "Shit, Anne, wake up." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and scrambled to find his shirt, hastily tugging it over his head. He'd just reached for his bracers when he realized there was no response from the other side of the bed. Frowning, he sat up again. "Anne?" he asked imploringly. Still nothing. Twisting around, he ran his hands over the mattress. He found twisted bedsheets and the warm depression where a body had once been, but no Anne.

"Damn it," he hissed. Immediately he knelt down on the floor beside the bed and plunged his hand into the gap between the mattress and the box spring, where he'd hidden the knife while she was in the shower. There was nothing there. She'd taken the dagger and run. "Damn it," he snapped again. He jammed his feet into his shoes, tied his bracers onto his wrists, and then headed out of the hotel.

He couldn't explain how he knew, but he could just tell where she was at. He backtracked the path they'd taken to get to the hotel from memory and found himself in the bustling crowds of the bus station. People made noises of annoyance as he shouldered his way through, following the strange prickling sensation in his spine. After a minute he caught the scent of grapefruit in the air and he paused, turning toward it. Three steps further and he reached out, catching ahold of her arm.

"Hey, watch …" Anne suddenly trailed off and he felt her tense.

"Hey there, sweetie," August said, smirking at her. "Sorry, I overslept."

He heard Anne let out a heavy breath. "That's all right," she said, patting his hand on her arm. "At least you're here now."

"Good to know you're so relieved," he said with only the faintest trace of sarcasm so the people around them wouldn't notice. "For a minute there I thought you were going to leave without me." By the small grumble Anne made in her throat he could tell that it had fully been her plan. Someone jostled them from behind and August bumped into her from behind. In a swift movement he slipped the knife from beneath the hem of her silk shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his own jeans again. While his mouth was still close to her ear he muttered, "Nice try, princess," before stepping back again.

"Let's just go, yeah?" Anne said, sounding weary and annoyed.

"Okay, but one quick stop before we do," August said. "Is there a stand selling souvenirs or something nearby? I want to buy a pair of sunglasses."

"Why?" Anne asked and he was pleased to hear the surprise and curiosity in her voice.

"Because it's the last thing my brothers would expect me to do," August answered. "They know how much I work not to let people know I'm blind and how I try to be independent. They would never expect me to actually play the role of the blind guy, so they'll never think to ask people if they've seen a man who is obviously blind."

"Glad you're so willing to sacrifice your pride for this," Anne said drolly but she walked them over to a corner of the station. "Here, honey, how about these?" she asked, pressing a pair into his hands.

"They aren't pink, are they?" August asked with a smirk, tracing his fingers over the lines of what felt like a simple pair of unadorned glasses. "Because pink just really doesn't work well with my complexion."

Anne tried to muffle the snort of laughter. "No, they're just black," she said. "Remember, I don't want to embarrass myself in this either and being the girl with the guy in pink shades is not on my agenda."

"Good to know," August said and then handed the sunglasses up to the cashier behind the low counter. Once he'd paid and gotten his change back he broke the tags off the glasses and put them on. "Alright, sweetie, where's the bus?" As they started walking again he added in a lower voice, "And the right terminal, please, since I'm sure you intended to hop on a different bus here."

"Oh you see through me so well," Anne drawled and August couldn't fight a smile at the comment. That was the sort of mocking jab at his blindness that no one else in his life would've dared to make for fear of offending him. Somehow her bluntness was just refreshing.

"Six am to Little Rock," a loud voice called as they walked closer. Well at least he knew they were heading for the right bus. They walked cautiously through the crowd, August grunting as people bumped into him before quickly stammering out apologies. This was why he hated letting people see that he was blind. Hearing their frantic 'sorry's over and over again was really wearing. The morning had already been stressful enough before all of these idiots.

He and Anne found an empty bench near the back of the bus, and he once again put Anne in the window seat. At least this bus was nicer than the last, a fancy charter bus with bucket seats and central air. August sighed and relaxed back into the seat, shutting off his bracers as the close quarters were making them vibrate so much they hummed. Next to him Anne was tense and angry. He felt a none-to-small thrill at having outsmarted her and wasn't afraid of showing his smug grin.

"You know this is going to be a terribly long trip if you're going to be grumpy the whole time," he said teasingly.

"It'll be longer if you keep talking," Anne replied shortly.

August chuckled but let his head fall back against the head rest. Oh well, if she wasn't going to be social then it was just more time for him to sleep. He checked once more to make sure that the dagger was secure inside the back of his jeans - he needed to find a more comfortable way of carrying the thing - before taking a deep breath and letting his muscles unwind.

"How did you find me?" Anne asked abruptly, cutting his rest short.

"Going to the bus station was a pretty easy guess," August said. "You're taking my advice. Travel unpredictably. Since we'd already been to the bus station, the obvious choice would've been to go somewhere I hadn't been yet. Since that's what should've been expected, you went the other direction and came right back to here. Tricky, but still obvious."

Anne muttered a few choice curse words beneath her breath that he still caught. "Let's just face it, princess," he finished, "I'm better at this game than you."

"You're an incorrigible pain in my ass," Anne hissed in reply. "And stop calling me princess." She twisted in the seat so she was facing away from him and then settled into a sullen silence. August just grinned and folded his arms over his chest, closing his eyes and relaxing. He fully intended to take advantage of the cold shoulder and the long drive to get a few more hours of sleep.

. . . . .

A light brush of fingers on his side woke August and he instinctively grabbed the hand trying to pry the dagger from his waistband. "You might as well quit trying, princess," he said. "I'm always gonna win."

Anne gave an indignant huff and jerked her wrist from his grip. "Further proof of the injustices of the world," she grumbled.

Ignoring her response, August straightened up in his seat. "How much longer? We must be getting close if you were willing to risk stealing."

"Twenty miles," Anne said. "And I wasn't stealing; I was reclaiming. It's not yours to possess, remember?"

"So you keep telling me," August said dismissively. He spent the rest of the drive smoothing his wrinkled clothes and trying desperately to tame his loose, curly hair.

When they'd left the bus behind in the Little Rock station, Anne once again took the lead. "There should be a parking garage nearby," August said. "Try to find us a car that looks like it's been there for a while. If we're lucky the owner won't be back to notice it's missing for a few days, and by then we'll be long gone."

"Let's hope this time we get one with air conditioning," Anne said and he was inclined to agree with her there. Being forced to become a fugitive in the middle of summer seemed a very unlucky break.

Not that luck really seemed to be on his side lately anyway.

After wandering around a multi-level garage for several minutes Anne finally stopped them. "It's got about three layers worth of rain spatters on it," she said. "Neglected enough for you?"

"As long as you can get into it without setting off the alarms we're swell," August said, raising an eyebrow.

Anne snorted. "It's not new enough to have an alarm," she said. There were a few jumbled clicks and then the door opened. "See, no problem."

"Impressive," August said with a laugh. He moved closer to the car, one hand extended, and then his hand found it much higher than he was expecting. Curious, he ran his fingers along the outside until he found the door handle. "A truck? Really?"

"Just get in, would you?" Anne said from inside the cab. August rolled his eyes but climbed inside, shutting the door behind him. "Besides, I figured if we're going to be driving through the forest then it might not hurt to have four-wheel drive."

August couldn't argue with her logic, feeling a little irritated that he hadn't thought of it himself. Instead he rolled down the window and leaned his arm on it. He heard Anne rummaging beneath the dash and then the truck's enormous motor ground into life. It was loud and sputtered at first, but then it settled into a steady rhythm. He felt the breeze teasing his skin as she backed the truck out of the stall and then drove out of the garage.

"Would you roll the window back up?" Anne asked. "I've got the air conditioner running." August made a face at her but obligingly put the window up again. The air coming through the vents was stuffy and still warm, but it was at least somewhat cooler than outside. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the rest.

"You sleeping again?" Anne asked.

"No, I'm just pretending to so you'll stop talking at me," August answered and shot a pointed look in her direction, forgetting she wouldn't see it through the sunglasses.

"Nice try," Anne said. "But if I have to stay awake to drive then you're going to stay awake with me. Got it?"

"Are you always this bossy, or is it just with the men you like?" August asked sarcastically.

"Only with the people who are incompetent enough to need telling," Anne said coolly. He would've been angry if he hadn't heard the smile in her voice when she said it. "So, do you have any more fascinating stories to tell me about the great adventures of August Anderson?"

"I would except that is classified information," August said. "Which means that I'm not allowed to tell you."

"You're on the run as a suspect of murdering a government director," Anne pointed out drolly. "Do you really think it's possible to get yourself into more trouble?"

"Yes, I could actually commit one of the crimes I'm being charged with," he said simply. "Like trading secrets with the enemy."

"Oh so I'm the enemy again?" Anne asked. "And here I thought I was your girlfriend." When August just smirked and turned his head toward the window she snorted. "You can't still believe I'm a terrorist," she said. "You know I'm not building nuclear warheads beneath my monastery now, so how can you still think I'm a terrorist?"

"Because you're hiding out with some sort of magical time-warping knife," August rebutted. "That's not exactly something I'd consider innocent. Who's to say you haven't used it to commit some sort of crimes? Find out answers and then go back in time to act on them?"

"Except you've used up all the sand," Anne said. "There was only enough in there for two uses, which you used."

"Who's to say there isn't more somewhere, hidden in that monastery of yours?" August said. "Or maybe you have some on you?" And there it was; a faint rustling, clinking sound. She was shifting a necklace. "Don't you know where to get some?"

"From pixies," Anne said with faux enthusiasm. "They come and refill this little bowl I keep on my bedside table every full moon, don't you know?"

August chuckled and shook his head. "Fine then, don't tell me," he said and shrugged.

They rode on in silence for a little while and then Anne said, "You know you really ought to wear your seat belt."

"I can't," August said. "It's broken." He tugged at the belt and it wouldn't come away from the wall. "Nice choice of escape vehicle."

Anne simply laughed. "Well then hold on, because we're only a few miles from the forest trail. You're going to be bouncing around over there."

"Fantastic," August responded dryly and grabbed the handle on the inside of the door. Ten minutes later the truck turned onto a wide dirt track and August felt the ground bumping up and down beneath their tires. He gripped the handle more tightly as he was jostled about in his seat. "Are you purposefully hitting every dip in the road?" he asked irritably.

"Only the deep ones," Anne said. When he made an annoyed noise she added, "I'm joking. Honestly I'm avoiding most of the worst places. This road is a mess." He grumbled again, wincing as he was tossed sideways and hit his head against the window frame. "Need I remind you this was your road of choice?"

"Yes, I remember," August snapped and rolled his eyes. "Only I'd hoped you might be a slightly better driver." This time Anne was the one who made the angry sound. They drove on in silence for a long time; the only noises were the tires scraping over the dirt road and August's grunts as he was thrown around in the passenger seat.

"This is going to be a very long trip if you don't cheer up a little," Anne said mockingly.

"It's going to be a long trip anyway," August replied. "This isn't exactly a small forest."

There was a tinny click and then a hiss of static. Anne muttered to herself as she switched through several channels on the radio, and then she turned it off again. "Well we've definitely reached the part where we're not going to be getting any signals," she said. "You better hope we don't disappear into a black hole or I will haunt you forever."

August snorted derisively. "If we get sucked into a black hole then you're the least of my problems."

The truck jerked roughly to the side and August grunted as his head thumped against the window again. He was just about to comment on the injury when Anne suddenly let out a startled yelp. The world tilted, he felt a rush of vertigo, and then the next thing he knew his head slammed against the dashboard and he lost consciousness.


	11. Chapter Nine, Abducted

AN: Y'all are gonna kill me for this chapter...

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><p><strong><span>Chapter Nine<span>**

"Auggie!"

August groaned as the shout stabbed through his forehead like a knife wound. His head was already pounding so badly. Why was she screaming at him and making it worse? "Damn it, August, wake up!" Why did his head even hurt in the first place? He couldn't remember exactly. What had he been doing? He wasn't hung over, that was for sure. There was no cottony taste in his mouth or nausea curling in his stomach. Just an agonizing pain in the front of his head and someone shrieking at him.

"Auggie, wake up!" He blinked and shifted, and then suddenly a hand closed tightly around his upper arm. He moaned aloud as he was pulled up forcibly, his body dragging roughly over a hard surface. Good God, where _was_ he? His head was still throbbing like someone had clubbed him over the head.

"Auggie?"

He was set on his feet and he staggered, and this time another pair of hands were pressed onto his chest, small and delicate as they helped him stay standing. Grapefruit. He could smell grapefruit. "Annie?" he asked, surprised by how weak his voice sounded. "What happened?"

"Back off him, miss." Anne was pulled away from him and the thick hands wrapped around his arms again. They were pulled behind his back and something tight fastened around his wrists, keeping them uncomfortably close together. "Now come along."

"What's going on here?" August asked, stumbling as he was shoved forward. The ground was uneven under his feet and he would've fallen if the large person behind him hadn't grabbed ahold of the back of his shirt.

"Just walk," the large man responded, righting him on his feet and then pushing again. He kept a firm grip on his arm this time as they marched forward. Without his hands in front to guide him, August tripped over every rock and branch in his path. "Jesus, buddy, you drunk or something?"

"Something," August grumbled in response and then bit back a groan as he stumbled over something else in his path and his ankle twisted painfully. The man behind him grabbed him and steadied him again before shoving him on. "Annie, you okay?"

"I'm fine," Anne answered from somewhere behind him. "You?"

"Been worse," he said.

The man behind him suddenly cuffed him around the head and said, "Stop talking or I'll make sure you do, yeah? I didn't say you could chat it up with your little girlfriend."

"Never said I couldn't either," August pointed out. This earned him another slap across the back of his head. "Seriously, are you going to tell us what's going on here?"

"No, I'm not," the man replied. "Now shut the hell up."

"Not much for manners, are you?" August said.

"Okay, that's it," the man snarled and pulled him to a stop. A second later August felt something pulled tight around his head, forcing it between his teeth. He flexed his jaw around the cloth that was in his mouth, thick and heavy on his tongue. It tasted strongly of sweat and he wrinkled his nose, fighting the urge to gag. "There, now maybe you'll keep that mouth of yours shut."

August wanted desperately to point out that he couldn't shut his mouth with the gag in the way but it was so tight he couldn't move his tongue enough to form the words. The man behind him shoved him forward again and the group started walking.

Focusing on their surroundings, August tried to get a good idea of where they were at. They were obviously still in the forest because he could smell the plants and hear the breeze ruffling the leaves. He could distinguish four other sets of footsteps besides his own; one light and three heavy. He assumed the light one was Anne, which meant that there were three other people keeping watch on them, all of them much bigger than he and Anne.

August grunted as his foot caught on something and he fell forward, his knee hitting the ground hard before the man yanked him upright again. "What the hell's wrong with you?" he growled, hitting August between the shoulder blades so he stumbled forward several steps. "Walk much?" August snarled through the gag as the man shoved him again. "Watch where the hell you're walking or your girlfriend is going to pay for it."

"My God, lay off him," Anne suddenly erupted from behind. "He can't see where he's going."

"I can't imagine why, with these ridiculous sunglasses on," the man chortled and his companions joined in. "You think you're some kind of rock star with these on?"

"He's blind, you assholes," Anne shouted. August felt the sunglasses jerked off his face and then the stench of hot breath as the man leaned in close. He instinctively leaned back and pulled a face of disgust. "He's blind. Just let me lead him, I can help make sure he doesn't trip over anything."

The large man in front of him laughed. "Yeah, so you two can make a break for it," he said. "No, I don't think so. I'll take care of this." A thick arm wrapped around his waist and then August felt himself lifted up and swung over the man's shoulder. His pride bristled as the man started walking again, with August's body draped over his shoulder like a piece of game meat. If he'd have been able to pinpoint where Anne's footsteps were coming from he'd have shot a furious glare at her. Instead he was now hanging upside down and all he could hear was his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

They must have been walking for at least thirty minutes before they finally stopped, and August heard one of the men pass him to open a loud metal door. They walked through it and August could tell they had gone indoors someplace, because there were echoes and the temperature changed. He could hear other people further ahead and there was a strange hum in the air. But instead of approaching the other people, they made an immediate left through another doorway. August was unceremoniously dumped on the concrete floor and Anne fell next to him just seconds later.

"You two wait here, we'll deal with you later," the lead man said and then their footsteps disappeared and the door slammed shut.

"Auggie, are you all right?" Anne asked immediately. August mumbled through the gag and then raised an eyebrow pointedly. "Oh right, sorry, give me just a second." He could hear her grunting and shifting around, but he couldn't tell exactly what she was doing. Then finally after a minute her fingers were tugging at the knot at the back of his head and the gag fell free.

"Thanks," he said, stretching his jaw to loosen it. "Where are we?"

"I don't know," Anne said from somewhere very close to his side. "Some sort of underground warehouse in the middle of the forest. Are you all right? Your head was bleeding."

"I'm fine," August said, shrugging it off. "I hit my head on the dash when you wrecked the truck. Smooth move, by the way."

"It was a disguised ditch," Anne said. "They'd booby-trapped the road. Dug a huge ditch all the way across and then camouflaged it behind a little hill and some plants. I didn't even see it there until the front tires had already gone in."

"Well I'll give them points for forethought then," August said. He shifted his arms behind his back, trying not to wince at the uncomfortable angle. He'd been in worse situations than this, hadn't he? Like that time in Bangladesh when he'd been kidnapped by the foreign cartel. Of course at least that time he'd had his brothers beside him and Stu in his ear. This time he was stranded in the middle of nowhere with a priestess and no available tech. "So whoever these people are, they clearly don't like visitors."

"I told you we shouldn't have gone this way," Anne murmured. He heard her shifting around again and then she sat down beside him, her knee pressed against his.

"You're not hurt, are you?" August asked. Obnoxious or not, he didn't want her to get killed.

"No, just a few little scrapes," she said.

"Good. So fill me in on what happened because I seemed to have missed a little bit of it."

"They were waiting for us," Anne said. "They must have known we were coming, because the moment the truck went down they were there. They dragged us both out, and you were unconscious. Then they bound both our hands and started marching us up the same road we'd been driving."

"There's three of them, right?" August asked. "Three men, all about six feet tall with broad builds."

"Yeah, and unarmed but really intimidating," Anne said. "They brought us here to this building, it's like half built into the ground, you probably wouldn't notice it if you weren't looking. Everything in here looks like blank concrete and steel doors. The other end of the warehouse looked like some sort of operations centre. There were a lot of computer set-ups. Big screens everywhere. But I didn't get a very good look at it before they shoved us in here."

"And how's in here looking?" August pressed.

"Like the sort of cell where they put people that are never heard from again," Anne answered. She was trying to remain calm, but he could hear the note of anxiousness underneath. "Twenty by twenty, flat concrete walls and floor and ceiling. One fluorescent light strip in the ceiling. One very thick looking metal door. And that is it."

"Charming," August said.

"Let me see your head," Anne said. He heard her moving and then her hands were on his forehead, prodding at the tender gash. He grimaced as she pushed at it. "Well it doesn't look too deep, so you should be okay. I think it's stopped bleeding."

"It probably had before you starting poking at it," August said.

Anne snorted. "Quit being such a baby."

"I'm not a baby," August grumbled dejectedly. "Do you think there's any way you can get my hands free? I'm not much use with them behind my back like this."

"These are some extra thick ties," Anne said. "We're talking industrial strength zip-ties. The only way to get these off is to cut them."

"The dagger," August said. "It's in my waistband. Get it out, you can use that to cut them." He stood up on his knees and Anne did the same, her hands fingering the waist of his pants until she got ahold of the knife and pulled it out. She slit the bands around his wrists and then pressed the hilt into his hand.

"Careful, would you?" Anne said. "I don't want to lose a finger."

August chuckled and touched the band, searching out a place where he could put the knife without cutting her skin as well. Finally he wedged it into a small gap between her hands and slit the plastic. It fell away and she flexed her hands. "Now what?" she asked.

August tucked the dagger back into his jeans, pulling his shirt down over the top so it was concealed. "We look for an escape route," he said. "And then we make a break for it."

"You really don't plan much in advance," Anne said and settled down to sit on the floor next to him again. "How do you propose we get out of here?"

"Still working on that part," August said. He stood up, ignoring the way his ankle protested under the weight, and began pacing the room. He turned on his wrist braces and walked the room, checking for any indication of an escape.

"I'm telling you there's nothing in here," Anne said.

"And sometimes it helps to look with more than your eyes," August responded, still pacing the room. He'd made three more circuits before he heard a noise at the door. Stopping, he pivoted around just in time to hear it open. He made to step toward it before he heard the cocking of a gun, and then he froze and lifted his hands in a sign of surrender. He was reckless by nature, but definitely not dumb enough to go up against a gun empty-handed. Anne stood up and shuffled back to stand next to him. Three more people entered, all with heavy footsteps and the sound of armed guns, and then finally one last pair of lighter steps came in. They were softer than the others, with purposeful strides and the distinct sound of heels.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" A woman's voice spoke with a thick Russian accent and August couldn't stop his eyes from widening because he knew that voice. Knew that woman.

"Natasha?"


	12. Chapter Ten, Ever Onward

AN: Thank you for not murdering me last chapter.

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><p><strong><span>Chapter Ten<span>**

"August Anderson." There was a note of smug satisfaction in her voice as she spoke this time, and August felt like his mind was whirling. He was being dragged across two different times, back to a time when he had been younger and less troubled, and had known this woman all too well.

"Wait a second, you know each other?" Anne asked in surprise.

"So, is she your new job, August?" Natasha asked, ignoring her.

"It's not like that, Tash," August said. "This isn't about work."

"Don't believe him," Natasha said. "He always says that it is not about his work but he never means it."

"I'm serious," August said. "What are you doing here? I thought you went back to St. Petersburg."

"I did," Natasha said. "I went there for a while, but the business was better here."

"That wasn't the deal," August said firmly. "You weren't supposed to come back, Natasha. That's why you were sent there in the first place. To keep you safe."

"Oh please, August, don't pretend like you care," Natasha said and he felt her come closer to him, invading his personal space. "Not after the way that you left. You have no say in what I do." With that she turned around and walked away again, pausing at the doorway. "Tie them back up, properly this time. I'll deal with them when I finish with the Romero codes."

August was turned around and pushed up against the wall, and this time he felt metal close around his wrists. He'd been in them enough times to recognise handcuffs. He was shoved down to the floor and another cuff secured around his ankle, then was threaded up over the chain between his hands, and around his other ankle. He was stuck kneeling on the cold concrete, his arms bowed behind his back with his hands between his feet. "Really, Tash?" August called in the direction of the door. "Yeah, this is mature."

"Shut up," a man said, shoving August in the head until he fell against the wall.

"Oh joy, it's my old buddy," August said sarcastically. The footsteps left the room and the door slammed shut behind him.

"Auggie, what's going on?" Anne asked. She was kneeling a few feet to his right, and by the strain in her voice he guessed that she must have been restrained in the same position as him.

"We've been chained up in ridiculous positions because hell hath no fury," August said cryptically, leaning his throbbing head back against the wall.

"How do you know that woman?" Anne asked.

August sighed heavily, resigned to telling the story. "Her name's Natasha Petrovna," he explained. "She's a Russian-born computer genius, anarchist, and my ex-girlfriend."

"Your - your _girlfriend_?" Anne sputtered.

"Ex," August repeated. "It was years ago, when I first started really working for the CIA. She was my first asset. We brought her in and she fed us information she'd collected through her work programming codes for the Russian mob. We worked together for a little over a year, bringing down mobsters left, right, and centre. And we got close."

"You fell in love with her."

August didn't waste his breath denying it. "It didn't matter though. We got in too deep and it would've ended badly. So she was sent back to Russia under government protection and I transferred to a deep ops job in Africa. I haven't seen her since."

"You loved her and you just left?" Anne asked incredulously. August's brow furrowed, because she sounded far more hurt by the story than she should.

"I did what I had to," August replied simply, hoping she got the hint that he was done talking about it.

"Great, so now we've been kidnapped by your angry ex-girlfriend, who has ties to the mob," Anne said. "Fantastic. Because this trip wasn't bad enough to begin with."

August ignored her, closing his eyes and trying to will the pounding in his head to go away. He rolled his shoulders forward and doubled over, resting his head on his knees. Of all the people to stumble across in the world, it had to be her. Of course. Because he was just that damn lucky. It wasn't like he was proud of what he'd done. He hated the way things had ended between them. He just hadn't had any other choice, and she never understood that.

It felt like it must have been ages later when the door to the room opened again. Only one set of footsteps entered this time, Natasha's, but he could hear others lingering around the doorframe. Natasha strode straight across the room to stand above him. "Give me one reason why I should not just kill you now?" she demanded.

"Because you're not a killer," August replied calmly. There was a moment of silence and August knew that his point had been made. "If we're going to be having a conversation, would you mind doing something about these cuffs? I am really not flexible enough for this, and I don't like talking to my knees."

"Forgive me for not being concerned about your comfort," Natasha said, but still she knelt down in front of him so they were closer to the same level. "What are you doing here?"

"I ought to ask you the same thing," August said. "But you've clearly got the upper hand in this situation so I'll go first then, shall I? I'm on my way to Mena. We thought we'd cut through the forest to save us some time but obviously that was a bad idea. You know I never thought there was anything behind all those rumours of people going missing or technological blackouts in the forest."

"They are only rumours " Natasha said with an unamused laugh. "Or at least the missing persons are. We control all of the technology in the area, so we do not want other people tracking us. It would be bad for business."

"Hacking and trading secrets again, are you?" August asked, not completely able to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "And here I thought you'd turned over a new leaf."

"Not trading; _sharing._ I publicise secrets to the world. Power and knowledge should not be kept in the hands of only a few privileged people. You used to agree with me."

"Until a shared secret almost got some of my men killed," August rebutted with a firm glare. "Shared secrets is what got us split up in the first place, Tash. One of your little shared pieces of information tipped off some powerful people. Our cover got blown and that's why we had to leave. You know that."

"I can see you have not wasted time finding new assets," Natasha commented. "Who is the blonde?"

"She's not an asset," August said. "I told you, this isn't about my work. She's a friend and she's giving me a lift to Mena. They haven't quite mastered the cars for the blind yet."

Natasha shifted further to his side and he could tell she was moving over towards Anne. "A friend, huh?" she asked. "Yes, I'm sure. Did he tell you the same lies? That he loves you, that you are the world to him, that he would leave his job and his family behind to run away with you?"

"It's not like that, Natasha," August said angrily, feeling like it must've been the hundredth time he'd said it in the last ten minutes.

The door opened again and Natasha pivoted on her knees. "Natasha, we've got an issue," a man said, his voice heavy with what sounded like a Middle Eastern accent. Israeli, maybe. "Marcus intercepted a secret telecast, but we're having trouble translating it. No one here speaks Portuguese."

"I do," Anne said suddenly, speaking for the first time since Natasha had come into the room. "I speak Portuguese fluently. Let us out, let me take a look at it, and I can translate it for you."

Natasha seemed to be deliberating it for a moment and then the man at the door said, "Tash, this could be time-sensitive. It came through from a government channel."

"Fine, uncuff their legs," Natasha said.

"Both of them?" another man said, the thick boorish man August recognized from their trip into the complex.

"Absolutely," Natasha said. "I don't trust him enough to let him out of my sight. He has a talent for disappearing when you leave him alone. They both come with us." Loud footsteps entered the room and August felt the handcuffs around his ankles being taken off. He sat up, gratefully stretching his sore back, and was then yanked up to his feet. He heard Anne walking with another large person just in front of him as they were marched back out into the main room.

The low humming sound still filled the air but this time August recognized it; technology. It was the electric hum of computers and monitor screens running from every corner of the room. They were led through a series of pathways until they came to an abrupt stop and the man with the Israeli accent said, "Alright, miss, let's see what you can do."

As Anne sat down in front of what he assumed was the computer station, August turned slightly in the direction of Natasha's perfume - still the same gardenia it had been when they'd been together. "To think you accused me of moving on quickly," he said jokingly. "Who's the new guy?"

"My name is Eyal," the Israeli said off-handedly, like he was hardly paying attention.

"He is a former Mossad agent, and the best marksman alive," Natasha explained. "No matter what weapon you give him, he will not miss his target."

"You flatter me, Tash," the Israeli said and August could practically hear that smarmy grin on his face. "But it's true."

August fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Wow Tash, you've really got a thing for government operatives, don't you? First CIA, now Mossad."

"Except he chose our cause over his work," Natasha said pointedly. Turning her back on him she said, "Well, blondie, what have you got?"

"This is some big stuff," Anne said. He could hear everyone around them talking and shifting closer to look, but beneath it all there was a different noise, one that seemed out of place. A rasping click. He couldn't place it but somehow he knew that something was going to happen. He tensed his muscles in preparation. "We're talking secret deals between the embassies here."

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked, her voice rushed with anticipation.

There was another low click and then a strange whispery sound. And then shouts and screams. Seizing his chance, August jerked his arm free of the man's grip and drove his elbow hard into the man's stomach. Anne called his name through the noise and he barrelled toward her, shouldering his way past startled people. As he ran he caught a scent of what had everyone so alarmed: fire.

He stumbled over something and crashed down to the floor, the air rushing out of him as he landed flat on the concrete. Pain flared in his head at the impact and he struggled to get back up, shaking off the heaviness tugging at his mind. Grunting, he slipped his legs through the gap between his arms, getting his hands in front of him again, and pushed himself up. He'd barely gotten on his feet when he felt a pair of hands close around his forearm, and through the smoke he smelt grapefruit.

"C'mon," Anne said frantically and she dragged him along with her. They wound past rows of computers until they raced through a doorway into another room. The smell of the fire was less here and instead he smelled motor oil and petrol. "Come on," Anne repeated, still pulling him. She opened a truck door and shoved him in, and while he climbed in she ran around to the other side and jumped into the driver's seat. There was shouting and yells from behind them as August slammed the car door shut.

"What are we doing?" he asked, trying to tell what she was doing.

There was the sudden roar of an engine and the truck vibrated around them. "We're getting out of here," Anne answered and August was thrown back into his seat as she stomped on the accelerator. A gunshot split the air and Anne swerved slightly. Three seconds later another gunshot shattered the passenger window, glass shards raining down over August. The truck veered again and then the air around them changed to humid summer heat again and he knew they must have gotten out of the compound.

He was jostled in the seat as the truck drove over dirt tracks and August instinctively reached for the seatbelt, fastening it. There was no way he was going through that again. "Did we make it?" August asked.

"I think so," Anne said and he could hear her hitched breathing. "They don't seem to be following us."

"Only one of them had a gun," August said, thinking back to the strange shooting pattern. "I don't think they have the weapons to really pursue us. Just keep an eye out for booby-traps this time, yeah?" He breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in the seat. "What happened? Was there a fire?"

"Yeah," Anne said. "I had a lighter in my pocket that I stole off someone on the bus. I poured some of the lighter fluid onto the outlets while I was pretending to read the screen, and then I lit the lighter and dropped it on."

August turned his head toward her, not bothering to hide the surprise and awe on his face. "Wow, that's - really impressive," he admitted.

"Be careful, Anderson, that was almost a compliment," Anne said playfully and he grinned. "So, onward to Mena then?"

"Onward to Mena."


	13. Chapter Eleven, Initiating Contact

**Chapter Eleven**

"I'm really getting sick of being captured and breaking out," Anne murmured and August chuckled, flexing his freed wrists.

"Welcome to my life," August said in reply. He tossed the handcuffs into the truck and then slammed the door shut behind him. They were only a few miles outside of Mena now and they'd have to walk the rest of the way in case the truck drew too much attention. They needed to get into town under the radar if they had a shot of getting to his uncle without being shot.

"I preferred mine," Anne said simply. He heard her climbing up into the back of the truck and a series of scrapes and thunks as she shifted things around. "Not the most useful things here, unless we're planning on kidnapping someone. A large bin of those heavy duty zip-ties. A blanket. A torch, that might be useful."

"We won't need it," August said. "It's no good to me and if we get forced into a situation when we're moving in the dark I'll just lead. The light would just give us away."

"Okay then," Anne said and there was a loud thud as she dropped the torch back into the pile. "Here's a pocket knife, that's good. And two bottles of Evian." August heard the swish of the water as she shifted the bottles around. "How do hackers in the middle of the forest get fancy bottled water like this?"

"Natasha is industrious," August answered casually.

"And pretty," Anne said. Her footsteps sounded heavily when she leapt down out of the truck and walked back up to his side.

"I wouldn't know," August said, hoping that his tone conveyed that he was done talking about it. "We ready to go?"

"One minute," Anne said. "I found a first aid kit under the seat. We should probably get you cleaned up a bit before we go."

"Are there any pain killers in that box?" August asked. "Because those would be fantastic right now." Anne steered him to the truck and prompted him to sit down on the tailgate. She set to work on cleaning up the scattered cuts he'd got from the shattering window. Only a few of them needed bandages, and she taped a bit of gauze to the scrape in his forehead and then combed his fringe down over it.

"How's your ankle?" Anne asked.

"What about it?" August asked in reply.

Anne let out a soft laugh. "Nice try, Mister Tough Guy," she said. "You've been limping since the truck wrecked."

"It's just a little twist," August said, shrugging it off. "Caught my foot under a root or something when those idiots were shoving us around. But again, if there are any painkillers in that box..." He trailed off hopefully, making Anne laugh again. A second later she pressed a little foil package and a bottle of water into his hands, and August gratefully downed the pills.

"The wrap bandage might not be a bad idea either," she said. "We're going to be walking for a while and I can't have you lagging behind because you're ankle is sore." August grumbled irritably but didn't try to stop her as she pried his shoe and sock off and began winding an elastic bandage around his swollen ankle.

"So what's the verdict, Doc, am I gonna live?" August asked sarcastically as she tied off the knot.

Anne threw his shoe at his chest. "For now, yes," she said and he smirked when she didn't sound too pleased by that fact. "Come on, we may as well get started now. Besides, I want to be long gone if your girlfriend comes after us."

"_Ex_-girlfriend," August reiterated even though he could tell she wasn't listening. He slid down off the tailgate and focused on where the sound of her footsteps was coming from. When she started walking he followed, grateful that he was able to use his laser braces this time to navigate the dangerous footing. He still stumbled over things, but at least he usually knew when to lift his feet higher.

They walked in near silence for half of an hour, apart from the sound of heavy breathing and the occasional muttered swear word when one of them stumbled. Finally August called out, "Hey Annie, toss me one of those water bottles, would you?" He heard her rummaging in the plastic sack she'd stashed their meagre supplies in, and then she threw the bottle at him. His bracers barely registered the movement in enough time for him to catch the bottle inches from his face.

"I still think a blind man shouldn't be able to do that," Anne said and he could hear that she was impressed.

August took a long swallow of the bottled water and then grinned at her. "Yeah well you probably shouldn't throw things at a blind guy either," he pointed out. "That's bad form." He closed the cap on the bottle and then started walking again.

"Auggie, come over here," Anne said and the tone of her voice had softened. "The ground's a lot smoother over on this side."

"Thanks, now you tell me," August grumbled but he followed the direction of her voice onto the edge of the road where the tire tracks hadn't cut as deeply. It was a lot easier to walk without the ground jutting up to catch his toes. "So, does this mean that you're not mad at me anymore for whatever it was I did to piss you off earlier?"

"I wasn't pissed at you," Anne replied a little too quickly and August shot a sceptical look at her. She sighed. "Okay I was a little upset."

"You don't say," August remarked with a hint of sarcasm. "About Natasha? Because I mean you had to have known there were other ladies before you, Annie dearest."

He could actually feel the annoyed glare she pierced him with. "Don't flatter yourself," she said. "I just felt bad for her."

"You felt bad for the woman who kidnapped us?" August asked in surprise. "I believe that's called Stockholm Syndrome."

Anne smacked him in the back of the head. "I know how it feels, okay?" she snapped.

The smirk slipped from August's face at the seriousness of her tone and he tilted his head slightly, imploring her with his gaze. "Know how what feels?" he pressed delicately.

"Being left behind," she admitted in a quiet voice. "Being told that you're loved and then being deserted. No one should have to go through that."

"The man who brought you to your monastery?" August guessed.

Anne's steps faltered. "How did you know? Was that in your file on me too?" she asked defensively.

"No, I read it in your voice," August explained. "When you talked about him before, I could tell there were a lot of emotions attached. It was just a lucky guess."

"Oh." Anne fell silent but after a minute her elbow tapped against the back of his hand and August took the lead, letting her steer him onto the paths where the ground was the least treacherous. "I really loved him, you know," she said, catching August by surprise. He hadn't expected her to keep talking about it. "I fell hard and fast. And then one day I woke up and he was gone; no good-bye, no explanations, just a note on the bedside table that said 'It's complicated.' I haven't heard from him since. For all I know he's dead."

"I'm sorry," August said, because he didn't know what else to say. It was no wonder she had reacted the way she had to his relationship with Tash. She must have seen him as being just the same as this man who had left her. "It was wrong of him to not at least give you a reason," he added, squeezing her elbow gently.

"Did you give her a reason?" Anne asked.

"Dozens, not that any of them made it easier," August answered. "When it came down to it, there was the simple truth that she was in danger. She had let slip one of her hacked secrets, and they traced it back to us. Our cover was blown and if I hadn't acted they would have killed her. If they were coming after me it wouldn't have been so bad, but she was the one they were after and I couldn't risk that. So I pulled a lot of government favours and got her a new life back in Russia, where she would be safe from the enemies she'd made here. She wasn't keen on the plan, if you couldn't tell."

"Yeah, I got that impression," Anne agreed and he almost breathed a sigh of relief to hear that her tone of voice had relaxed. "Do you think you'd still be together? If that hadn't happened, I mean."

August let out a mirthless chuckle. "No, I highly doubt it," he admitted. "We were too alike, and too different at the same time. For her, everything was about her cause. And I loved that about her, I loved her passion and her dedication, but I wanted more from life than just work. I want a life of my own, eventually. We fought about it a lot. Never enough to ruin us but we had our moments. We could've gotten by for a while the way we were, but inevitably it would've torn us apart. Maybe it was better this way, getting out before it was too late. Cutting the ties, and all."

"You still love her though," Anne said, and he could tell it wasn't a question.

"Sure, and I always will. But sometimes that's just not enough to fix all of the problems," he said. "It only patches up so many holes before it's just not strong enough anymore. She needs to find someone who can be the man she needs. That man just isn't me. Might be that Israeli though, even if he seemed pretty interested in you."

Anne gave an embarrassed laugh. "He was intense," she said diplomatically. "Smarmy and arrogant like you though. Natasha definitely has a type."

"Harsh," August said, grinning, and this time Anne really did laugh.

. . . . .

"How do you plan on pulling this off, exactly?"

August ignored the question, focusing on the ambient noises around them for any helpful clues. They had gotten into Mena easily enough, coming in through a residential area and playing it casual. Now they were sitting at a park near city hall, trying to keep a low profile while he planned the next step of the plan.

"I'm really not okay with this whole 'winging it' thing you've got going on," Anne said when he didn't answer. "Do you have any idea how to get a message to your uncle without getting shot? Because I've got nothing."

"I'll figure something out," August said unconcernedly.

"It's impossible," Anne hissed. "Unless you can turn invisible and you've just neglected to mention that talent until now."

August grinned as an idea came to him. "No, it's improbable but not impossible," he said. "I need a computer."

"A computer?" Anne repeated in surprise.

"Yeah, you know, those boxes of wires that process information," he said sarcastically. "I need one with internet connection. Is there an internet cafe around here or something like it?"

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting at a cramped row of desks in the local library. August worked slowly to avoid typos, wishing he was home with his Braille keyboard and refreshable display. After he'd finished drafting the program, he sat back and waited for the slow local internet connection to transmit the data. "I got faster service than this in Colombo," he grumbled irritably. "Is it done yet?"

"Sixty-four percent," Anne read off for him and he groaned. "So what exactly are you doing here? Because binary isn't one of the languages I'm fluent in."

"I wrote a ghost program that I can then use to send an encrypted message to my uncle's phone," August explained, lowering his voice as he heard someone walking passed them with shuffled steps. "I just need to wait for it to finalize the program codes so I can send the message."

"You wrote a program?" Anne asked and her surprise was evident. "We've only been here for like ten minutes."

"I'm more than just a pretty face, darling," August answered with a smirk.

"I can't even figure out how to work a cell phone if it has too many features," Anne admitted and laughed.

"I've always been good with computers," August said. "Although it's a lot easier for me when I'm at home, where the computers come with Braille displays and headphones. I did a lot of work in the office on computers before I got licensed for field work."

There was a dull pinging sound and August straightened up expectantly. "It's finished," Anne announced. "Now there's just some sort of open text box on the screen with some gibberish html looking stuff in it."

"Excellent," August said eagerly and then started typing again. He ran over the words in his head several times to check them and then, satisfied with the message, hit the enter key. The computer beeped once more and then the aged fan blades began humming as it processed the command.

"The box disappeared," Anne said after a few seconds.

"Which means our message was sent," August said. "Okay, let's go. We need to get back to that pavilion at the park."

"What? Why?" Anne asked.

"Because that's where I told him to meet me," August said, pressing the power button on the monitor and standing up. "Now let's go."

Anne made an annoyed noise but stood as well and offered her elbow. She didn't say anything more until they were back out on the pavement, headed for the park. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked uncertainly. "Meeting with your uncle, out in public like this?"

"The pavilions at the park are tucked back into the corner, it's fine," August said. "I've done this plenty of times, Annie, I know what I'm doing."

"Have you ever done it as a fugitive of the country?" Anne asked sardonically.

"More times than you'd think," August admitted with a dry laugh. "Although it's usually in foreign countries that seem to–

"Shit!" Anne hissed suddenly and she grabbed his arm, turning him sideways and shoving him forward. She reached around him to open a doorway and ushered him through before he got the chance to even open his mouth.

"What the hell?" August asked indignantly.

"Blue blazers and tan pants," Anne responded. "A pair of them on the pavement and headed our direction. Those are the guys we want to avoid, right?"

"Feds, yeah," August said, surprised that she'd remembered that little detail. "Did they see us?"

"No, it looks like they're still walking," Anne said. "I think I got us inside before they spotted us."

"Good catch there," August said and let out a breath of relief.

"Can I help you with anything?" asked a soft female voice from behind them.

"No, thank you, we're just browsing," Anne said politely and then threaded her arm through August's. "Honey, we should get you a new jacket, it's getting pretty cold out."

"That's a good idea," August said, taking the cue to play along. "Actually we should get you one too, since we left yours at home."

"Okay well if you two need anything, I'll be over at the counter," the woman said and then August heard her steps weave away, scuffing against the carpeted floor.

"You're getting a little too good at this spy thing for my comfort, you know," August informed Anne in a whisper.

"Just wait until I start using it against you," Anne said and he could hear her smirk.

"Oh please," August said and laughed. "You're not that good, darling. No one is that good."

"Glad to see your ego is still intact," Anne drawled sarcastically. "Now come here, we actually should get you a jacket. It'll help disguise you a little bit."

"Ah, look at you caring about me," August teased lightly. Anne snorted derisively as she steered him to a nearby clothing rack and told him to stand still. "I'm really hoping you have good fashion sense."

"Not that you'll be able to tell otherwise," Anne pointed out. August couldn't help but laugh at her bluntness. "Here, it's grey, that works with your monochrome look."

August accepted the jacket that she handed him, running his fingers over it curiously. The fabric was sturdy and sleek, without too much trim and fanciness apart from a simple metal buckle at the collar. He curiously pulled it on, shrugging his shoulders until it settled into place, and then nodded. "How'd you pick my size so easily?"

"Took the size of your ego and divided by two," Anne responded casually, making him smirk again.

"Boy, you are just laying it on thick today, aren't you?" he said. "Alright, lady charming, let's get your jacket and get going again. I want to get to the pavilion and get it scoped out before Uncle shows up."

"Oh I can already see the jacket I want," Anne said.

"And it's reasonable, right?" August asked. "Because remember we're not exactly swimming in cash here unless you've got some hidden on you that I don't know about."

"Don't worry, I know," Anne said, nudging his hand so he'd take her lead. "The jacket's simple. Although if we weren't spending so much time running, I'd be all over those Louboutin heels over by the wall."

August chuckled. "Mmm, gotta love those kitten heels." For some reason that made Anne laugh, although he had no idea exactly why. As far as he could recall, Louboutins were pumps, so he didn't know where he'd said something funny. Passing it off as a weird girl quirk, he let her pick out her jacket and they went to the counter to pay for them.

"Find everything, did ya?" the woman asked cheerfully.

"Oh wait," Anne said and then August felt something come down over the top of his head. Furrowing his brow, he reached up and felt it to realise she'd put a baseball cap on him. "It's Yankees, babe. Your favourite."

"Oh awesome!" August said in mock enthusiasm. The woman behind the counter laughed at their playful exchange and once they'd paid for their things they slipped back out of the shop. "A baseball cap?" August asked the moment the door had shut behind them with a cheerful jingle.

"To cover up that mop of hair," Anne said, straightening it out on his head. "It's sort of distinctive, I thought this might help you blend in."

"Mop?" August asked indignantly, touching a curl defensively. "It's not a mop. I'll have you know I carefully plan it to look so dishevelled."

"Sure you do," Anne said and it was clear by the tone of her voice she was simply humouring him. "And I'm sure the last couple days of sleeping on buses and in cars has nothing to do with it." August frowned, trying to come up with a rebuttal to that that didn't make him sound like a petulant child, but she cut across him. "There are cars starting to filter through town, I think the funeral is over. C'mon, we'd better get you to the pavilion quick."


	14. Chapter Twelve, Treachery

**Chapter Twelve**

August paced a small circle inside of the pavilion, listening to the echo of his trainers on the coarse cement. After helping him check out the pavilion Anne had gone across to the other side of the park to stay out of the way. The park was relatively empty and the only sounds August could make out were the sounds of his movement and the crisp wind that was accompanying the early sunset.

Now that the time to talk with his uncle had actually arrived, he hated to admit that he was just a little bit nervous. It was foolish, because Uncle would believe him and he would be able to fix everything. There was no reason to believe that things would go poorly. Still, part of him wished that Anne was at least nearby. He had gotten used to having her at his side the last few days, and even with as independent as he was, he enjoyed having someone there. Besides, her playful banter would've eased his nerves.

The familiar scuff of leather on cement made August flatten against the wall of the pavilion, listening intently to the sound as it drew nearer. Footsteps; patent leather shoes; a slight limp on the left side. "Uncle," he breathed out in relief. There was definitely only one set of footsteps, so he had come alone.

His uncle's steps paused at the entrance to the pavilion and August inched forward out of the shadows. "Uncle, you came," he said in relief.

"This looks just like that shed you and your brothers used to play in at the local park when you were children," his uncle's curt voice replied and August heard him take several steps into the building.

"It was our base of operations," August said with a small smile. "We used to play spies from there."

"And you used to throw pebbles at Jai and pretend they were bullets," Henry said. August chuckled and then threw his arms gratefully around his uncle. "August, what's going on? Why did you want to meet me?"

"I didn't kill Dad," August said insistently. "I was framed."

"Framed?" Henry asked. "By who?"

"Conrad," August said darkly. "It was all a ploy, to get power. He framed me for Dad's death because he was next in line to take over the DCI position. And he wanted something I've got, something I took from the monastery in Sri Lanka."

"What are you talking about?" Henry pressed.

"I know this sounds mad, but listen to me, Uncle," August said. "You know me. You know I would never do anything to hurt Dad. Not after everything he did for me. But I found this knife in Sri Lanka, a knife with amazing powers. It has the ability to turn back time."

"It what?"

"I didn't believe it at first either, but it does," August persisted. "It holds this sand, and when you release it, times turns backwards. You can use it to go back in time and change things, fix them and make them right. Conrad wants this knife, so he can use it to make sure that all of his missions are successful. He can see what evidence is actionable and then go back in time to act on it. With it he would be unstoppable."

"This knife, do you have it with you?" Henry asked, taking a conspiratorial step closer.

"Yes, I have it here," August said and then reached into his waistband. He grabbed the washcloth they'd wrapped it in, and pulled it out, and then handed it to his uncle.

"What sort of joke is this?" Henry asked sharply.

"What?" August asked in confusion. Henry slapped something back down into his hand roughly and August traced his fingers over it. "This isn't the knife."

"No, it's a novelty bottle opener if I'm not mistaken," Henry said.

August fingered the thin chunk of metal thoughtfully, trying to make sense of the situation. His mind jumped back to the shop, when Anne had helped him put on his new jacket. "Damn it, Annie," he growled. "She must have switched them."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Henry growled.

"Anne, the priestess from the monastery, she must've taken it," August explained. "I swear it, the knife is real. Anne's got it but she can't have gotten far. If we find her, we can get the knife back. I can fix this, we just have to find her."

Henry let out a heavy sigh and August heard him pulling something from the inside of his jacket. After a soft rasp of metal August caught a strong, bitter smell that seemed familiar. "Tequila," Henry said, apparently catching the look on August's face. "I've taken a page out of Arthur's book. Don't go anywhere without it. Would you like some?"

August nodded dimly, accepting the metal flask that Henry pressed into his hand. He lifted it but the smell triggered a memory and he hesitated. The scent was not exactly the same as the bottle of Patron that his father used to drink, but it was familiar. In fact, that faint chemical overlay was identical to the glass of tequila that he'd given to his father. His brain ground to a halt, picking up on something he'd disregarded at the time.

When Henry had first walked into the interrogation room, there had been a scrape of glass being set on the table, followed by his uncle whispering something to Conrad. It had been Henry who had brought in the poisoned tequila. Suddenly everything clicked into place, and the flask slipped from his hand.

"It was you," August gasped. "It wasn't Conrad who framed me, it was you. Why?"

"What are you talking about, boy?" Henry barked. But it was another noise that caught August's attention; the metallic click of a gun being cocked. August's instincts kicked into overdrive and he dove for the ground, rolling to soften the impact, just as the gun fired. There was a sharp sting in his shoulder but August ignored the pain as he rolled back to his feet and barrelled toward the door. In the frame he collided with someone, and he shouldered the other person out of the way before turning to run from the pavilion.

Another gunshot rang out as August raced around the edge of the pavilion, running in the direction opposite of the street he'd come from. He could hear the man pursuing him and he had to focus on the vibrations given off by his bracers to keep himself from falling over anything. A second set of footsteps came up alongside him and August pushed himself on faster in a panic.

"Auggie, this way!" the person said and a hand closed around his.

"Annie?" August asked in surprise, but he turned and followed her lead. "You took the knife!"

"I had a feeling this might happen," Anne responded, pulling him on further. "You can yell at me later. Right now, let's just not get shot." Three shots echoed out and August ducked his head instinctively. "C'mon!"

"Where are we going?" August asked.

"Into the forest," Anne said. "We've got a better chance of escaping them in the trees."

"And then what?" August asked, scrambling to straighten up again when he stepped into a dip in the ground and stumbled.

"I don't know," Anne shouted back to him, tightening her grip on his hand when his fall nearly pulled him out. "I haven't planned that far ahead. I'm just winging it like you do."

August couldn't help but grin in satisfaction. "Knew I'd rub off on you eventually," he said.

"Would you just shut up and run?" Anne asked hysterically. Another gunshot from behind them made August swallow his sarcastic response and he pushed himself harder, keeping pace next to her.

"Trees ahead," Anne warned. "Watch yourself." August lifted his free arm to shield his head just seconds before they broke through the line of trees. Anne had to slow down slightly as they wove through the thick trees, and the constant change in depth was making it difficult for August to follow as easily behind her. A miscalculation made him clip his shoulder against a tree trunk, sending a spasm of pain through the wound left behind by the first bullet, but he couldn't move his arm down to protect his body without getting hit in the face with stray branches.

"Isn't there some sort of trail through here we can use?" August asked irritably.

"Possibly, but that means those guys following us could use it too," Anne answered. "You really want to risk getting shot in the back?"

"In exchange for a clear walking path?" August replied. "It's almost a tempting offer."

"You're an idiot," Anne said just loud enough for him to hear her.

"Be nice, princess," August chided. "We should change directions and keep moving."

"Why?" Anne asked.

"Because they'll assume we'll keep heading – is it north we're heading now?"

Anne made a noise of comprehension. "Right, always travel unpredictably. C'mon, west it is then. I was looking at a map earlier at the library and there's a lake a few miles west. We can find a ride there." After they'd changed directions they ran on for another mile or so before they finally slowed down to a walk, both of them panting.

"You wouldn't happen to still have any of that water, would you?" August asked curiously.

"We drank it by the time we got to town," Anne reminded him. "And sorry but I had other things to worry about, like the people trying to shoot us."

"You took the knife," August said accusingly. "They wouldn't have been shooting at me if you hadn't lifted the knife." He paused and then shook his head, letting out a heavy breath. "It's probably for the best though. It's not my brother, it's my uncle. He's the one who poisoned my father. You knew, didn't you?"

"I didn't know," Anne said. "But I had a feeling. There was just something about that man that makes my skin crawl. I just got this horrible feeling that if you gave him the knife things would go bad. So I stole it when I was helping you put on that jacket."

"Do you still have it?" August asked.

"Of course, it's right here," Anne said and to his surprise she placed it in his palm. August ran his fingers over it curiously, and then slipped it back into his waistband, tossing the can opener away into the trees. "Turns out I did finally manage to outsmart the spy," she added smugly.

"You keep telling yourself that, princess," August said with a grin. He dragged a hand through his hair, noticing idly that his baseball cap had gone missing at some point. "We need to get back to Sri Lanka."

"What, wait?" Anne asked. "When did you decide this? Because I've been saying that for days now."

"My brother is in Sri Lanka," August explained. "He's still digging through your monastery for signs of weapons. I can't trust my uncle any longer, but maybe I can make Conrad listen."

Anne sighed. "Well I still think that's a ridiculous idea, but at least we're on the same page for once," she said. "Okay, so how do we get to Sri Lanka from here?"

"If we're headed west, we're moving toward the Oklahoma border, so our best shot is Oklahoma City," August said. "From there we can try to catch a plane out of the country. Once we're no longer stateside we'll have a much easier time getting around."

"I'm really wishing we'd gone to the Caribbean instead now," Anne said and August chuckled appreciatively.

"Me too," he agreed. "But at least now I know it wasn't my brother. But I don't understand why my uncle would do something like this. Uncle Henry and Dad were practically inseparable most of their lives."

Anne squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "We should probably get moving again so we can reach the lake before they spread the word about us," she said.

"Lead the way, princess," August said with a grin.

"Give me your hand," Anne said and when he held out his hand she took it and placed it against the small of her back. "Grab my belt," she instructed when he furrowed his brow in confusion. "That way you'll stay right behind me and you won't have to worry about running into trees."

"Oh got it," August said, sliding his hand down until he found her belt and then slipping his fingers around it. "I thought for a minute that was a proposition and I was worried."

"If I ever get crazy enough to proposition you, then you definitely need to start worrying," Anne said dryly and then started walking. August snorted at the weak attempt at an insult, but followed behind her silently as she carefully wound her way through the trees. She did a fair job of warning him of protruding roots or bushes, and travelling behind her made it a lot safer going. Well, apart from the fact that his knuckles kept brushing against the warm skin in the small of her back and distracting him, not that he'd admit that to her. The last thing he needed was to give her another reason to gripe at him.

"So how far exactly was it to this lake?" August asked after a few minutes. "I didn't get a very good look at the map."

Anne chuckled softly. "It looked about seven or eight miles," she responded. "Nine if we keep to the forest."

"Fantastic," August said. "Glad to know that marathon training will come in handy. I'd hate to think I wasted all of that time."

"Do you always complain this much?" Anne asked.

"I wouldn't call it complaining," August replied casually. "More of a sarcastic colour commentary. Besides, one of us has to like the sound of my voice after all."

"Well Chatty Kathy, we might need you to lead the way soon," Anne said. "The sun's set and it's getting dark."

"Always a pleasure to be of use," August said. Anne stopped and walked around behind him, closing her hand around the waistband of his pants. When her fingers nudged the hilt of the dagger he instinctively tensed.

"Relax, I just don't want to lose you in the dark," Anne said. "I've already successfully stolen it from you once, I've proven my point."

August nodded and then turned to start walking, taking slow and careful steps as his arm bracers mapped the ground in front of him. "Why didn't you run?" he asked abruptly. Anne made a confused noise from behind. "You had the dagger, they didn't even know you were in the city. You could've easily gotten away. So why didn't you?"

"Don't think it didn't cross my mind," Anne said.

"But you didn't do it," August pointed out. "When did you decide to like me, princess?"

"Oh please," Anne said, her voice thick with scepticism. "Don't flatter yourself. I just forgot to lift your wallet, and I wouldn't make it far without money." August didn't argue with her but he grinned as he steered them through a thick patch of trees.

Whether she would admit it or not, she'd grown fond of him.


	15. Chapter Thirteen, Conspiracy to Kill

**Chapter Thirteen**

Henry Anderson pulled out his cell phone the moment he had reached somewhere with decent cell service again. When he checked his messages he found that he had two missed calls from Conrad, and he dialled his nephew's number. It rang twice before Conrad answered, "Uncle Henry, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Conrad, what is this about?" Henry said.

"I heard that August was seen at father's funeral," Conrad said. "Jai texted me that you were involved in a gunfight. What happened?"

Henry sighed. "August came to kill me," he said. "He followed us here and took a chance when I was alone to try to assassinate me. If I hadn't had a guard with me he might well have succeeded too." Conrad made a noise of disbelief. "Conrad, we cannot allow him a chance to try this again. You know as well as I that he is far too gifted at escaping the impossible. If he is given a trial it will only serve him better. He will use his silver tongue to talk his way out of this. We cannot give him this opportunity."

There was a long, pregnant pause from the other end of the line. "I can't do that, Uncle," Conrad said. "That isn't the way we do things in this country. I have only just earned this position, I won't start it out by defying the basic laws of our country."

"You are a wise leader," Henry said, inwardly cursing.

"We will find August and we will bring him back to stand trial for his crimes," Conrad said, although his voice shook. "That is the way it has to be."

"Very well," Henry said. "I will inform our people here of your orders."

"Thank you, Uncle," Conrad said.

"How is the search going?" Henry asked. "Have you found the hidden forges?"

"We've found collapsed tunnels beneath the monastery," Conrad answered. "We are still working on excavating them, but I believe we are on the right path. I _will_ find these weapons and clear my conscience."

"I'll let you know the moment we've found August," Henry said, and then they both hung up their phones. Henry fingered his mobile thoughtfully for a moment and then dialled another number. It rang twice and then picked up, although no one spoke. "It's me," Henry said. "We need to meet, I have a task for you. Meet in the usual place."

"I can be there by morning," the man on the other end said.

"Good," Henry said, and then snapped his phone shut again.

. . . . .

Henry leaned against the rim of the hotel roof in the early dawn light, sipping at a large coffee from the nearby Starbucks. It had been a long red-eye flight to get back from Arkansas to DC overnight, and now it was only the thrill of what was coming that was keeping him awake. He checked his watch again and then went back to his drink. Any minute now...

"I have always loved watching the sunrise over the city." Henry didn't even flinch at the voice as it spoke up from behind him. He waited as the man crossed the rooftop and then leaned against the ledge beside him. "What do you need, Henry? You sounded urgent."

"You know about what's happened to my brother," Henry said and it wasn't a question. The other man nodded. "I need you to find my nephew. He has something I desire."

"The dagger," the second man said rhetorically.

"Return the knife to me," Henry said. "Whether my nephew survives is entirely up to you, although I'm preferential to the idea of him not being able to interrupt my plans any further."

"And what will I receive for payment?" the man asked.

"His companion," Henry said and he turned to cast a meaningful look at his co-conspirator. "The pretty little blonde priestess from Sri Lanka. I believe the two of you are familiar. She had this on her when we brought her into interrogation." He pulled a small ivory shell bracelet from his coat pocket and held it out to the man. "Do this for me and she is all yours. I will see that the two of you are able to create a new life in whichever country or obscure island you choose."

The man accepted the bracelet, running it through his fingers, and then nodded. "I'll leave right away," he said and tucked the bracelet into his pocket.

The two men exchanged glances and then the younger headed for the doorway. Just before he could grab the handle, Henry called out, "Oh and Mercer, if you fail me, don't bother trying to set foot in my country again."

"Understood," the other agreed and then disappeared down the stairs.

Henry smirked and went back to watching the sunrise. "Oh August, you don't stand a chance now."


	16. Chapter Fourteen, The Storm

**Chapter Fourteen**

A long hike and a stolen car later, August and Anne were cruising across the Oklahoma state border, heading northwest toward Oklahoma City. August closed his eyes and relaxed back into the seat, stretching out his legs and flexing his sore ankle. Although he kept his expression controlled, inside his mind was racing.

It had hurt to think that his brother had betrayed him and their family, and part of him was relieved to know that it hadn't been Conrad behind it all. He loved his brothers and he didn't want to believe that either of them was so blinded by ambition that they would kill their own father. However the truth was just as shocking. His uncle had been the one who had killed his brother. The question was why? What did Henry have to gain from his brother's death?

In the end, it all came back to the dagger. Henry had set August up so he could get his hands on the dagger. There was something about its magical qualities that Henry wanted. But what would turning back a few minutes do for Henry? He was missing some important piece of the puzzle, and without it he couldn't make out what exactly he was up against.

The trip was mostly quiet as Auggie was so exhausted by the events of the last few days that he could hardly stay awake. Between being kidnapped by Natasha's men and meeting with his uncle in Mena, they had been awake for at least forty-eight hours, during which they'd had next to no time to unwind. It surprised him that Anne managed to last as long as she did before informing him that she needed to sleep. They were only about an hour passed the Oklahoma border, but that would have to hold them for now because if they went further August had a feeling they'd be dying a fiery automotive death.

Anne drove them into the next small town they reached on the highway and they wound up at a little motel that smelled vaguely like tobacco. It was a testament to how tired she was that Anne didn't even comment when they wound up with another single bed room. Instead she walked in and promptly collapsed on the bed, only bothering to take off her shoes and jacket before getting under the covers. August wasn't far behind her, stripping down to his boxers and teeshirt and then climbing in on the other side. Despite the whirlwind in his mind, his head had hardly touched the pillow before he was fast asleep.

He dreamed in colour for the first time in years. Or at least, in one colour. The same golden-yellow glow that had filled his vision when he'd been sent back in time by the dagger danced across his eyes in his sleep and formed shapes and images of things he couldn't make out clearly. Blurred figures danced around each other, hulking forms rose above them all and washed the scene clear like a wave across the beach. It made no sense, but the ability to see again made the confusing dreams not-all-together unpleasant.

August woke slowly and reluctantly, more than comfortable enough to never want to move again. Although his body was sore from the strenuous exercise and his shoulder seared from where the bullet had nicked him, the mattress was surprisingly soft and he was warm. He curled his arms tighter, bringing the warmth closer to his chest and nuzzling his head into something soft that smelled like citrus. Wait, citrus...?

Curious, August let his hand slide across the silken fabric beneath his fingers. Through the cloth he felt the steady rise and fall of a ribcage that gave way to a lean back, smooth and slender. At his touch a hand fisted in the fabric of his teeshirt and a quiet moan sounded as someone buried their face into the curve of his shoulder. Two trim legs fastened around one of his more tightly when he made to pull back and he stilled before he woke her.

_Annie_, he concluded blearily once he'd inhaled the familiar grapefruit scent again. Somehow in her sleep she'd rolled into his side and made herself more than comfortable. August couldn't stop the smug grin that crept across his face at the thought. Clearly she couldn't stay away, no matter how she pretended she didn't like him.

Closing his eyes and relaxing back into the mattress again, August let his fingers trace her body a little more. He'd never really gotten much of an opportunity to see what she looked like before, apart from the time that he'd checked her for weapons at the monastery, and that time her appearance was not exactly a concern to him. Her body was long and lean and solid, made of slim compacted muscles beneath skin as soft as the silk shirt she wore. The denim shorts only reached mid-thigh and her slender legs were hooked up around his leg, the taut muscles of her thigh flexed slightly. Her hair was loose and fell around her head, thick and curling and impressively soft. From his use of the dagger he remembered that it was a rich sort of golden colour. He found a small, curved ear poking through her hair but the rest of her face was buried in his collarbone and he couldn't reach it without jostling her.

If her face was even half as attractive as her body, then she was surely a goddess among men.

Deciding to take advantage of the comfort and quiet, August closed his eyes and let himself drift back into a state of semi-consciousness. It had been a long time since he'd gotten a good rest and even longer since he'd had a beautiful woman in bed with him. He wasn't going to complain.

Anne woke him up later by trying to burrow further into his side, jabbing a knuckle into his ribcage. The resulting groan stirred her into consciousness and she shuffled against him before he finally felt her prop herself up. "Morning, Cuddles," August said with a teasing smirk. Anne let out a startled noise and then quickly sat up, pulling away from him and shoving him roughly. "What? You're the one who cuddled up with me, I had nothing to do with it."

"I'm going to take a shower," Anne said and August felt the bed shifting as she climbed off.

"Want company?" August asked cheekily. She didn't respond except to close the bathroom door with more force than was probably necessary. While she ran the shower in the other room, August stood up and stretched out his sore muscles. He was actually almost looking forward to spending most of the next leg of the trip sitting, because after all the running and hiking he was more exhausted than he cared to admit. All the training in the world hadn't prepared him for what it would be like to be a fugitive on the run.

By the time Anne shut off the shower and emerged, August was lounging on the bed again. He glanced in her direction as the wave of steamy warm air swept into the room. "Are you going to be grouchy with me all day, or did the shower help?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Just go shower so I don't have to smell you anymore," Anne replied but there was something lighter to her tone that told him she wasn't actually that annoyed with him at the moment.

"Oh c'mon, princess, you know you like that natural man smell," August replied playfully as he stood up. Anne laughed derisively and he couldn't honestly blame her; he agreed that showering was needed. It had been a long time and a lot of miles since he'd last gotten the chance. He took longer than he would usually take in the shower, and when he got out Anne was listening to a news report on the television.

"No word on us," Anne said as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"That's good, that means at least they're still trying to keep things covert," August said. "If they started bringing in local police we'd be in real trouble. So long as they hold off on that until we make it out of the country then we should be fine."

"That's encouraging," Anne said drolly and August gave a half-smirk in response. "It's good to know we're not completely screwed, just mostly."

"Keep being that optimistic and I'll think you're up to something," August said with a laugh. "Let's get something to eat and get back on the road. The sooner we get out of the country the better."

"Not to mention the weather is looking bad," Anne added and he heard the rustling of fabric as she shifted aside the curtains. "That wind is picking up." They ate a hasty breakfast from the coffee shop beside the motel and then they were back into the car, blazing down the highway toward Oklahoma City.

While Anne drove, August puzzled over the strange turn of events that his life had taken. As much as he loathed the idea of his brother being behind his father's death, at least then the motivation had made sense. For Conrad the dagger meant power and security in his dream job. What could Henry possibly use the dagger for? What purpose did the assistant to the DCI have for turning back time by a few minutes?

"There's more to this dagger that you're not telling me," August said.

"What?" Anne asked in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"My uncle has no use for turning back a few minutes of time," August explained. "There's something else about this dagger that makes it valuable to him. So what more is there to the story that makes this useful to him?"

"There's nothing more," Anne said. "You've seen what it does."

"Don't lie to me, princess," August said warningly. "We both know there's something else going on here that you're not talking about. So what is it?" When she didn't say anything more, he sighed and pulled the dagger from his waistband. "Tell me what more I need to know, and the dagger is yours. I swear it."

"You'd do that?" Anne asked sceptically.

"I don't particularly care about the dagger at the moment," August admitted. "What I care about is knowing why my family has been torn apart."

Anne made a soft noise of consent. "A long time ago the Gods had grown weary of humankind," she said. "They were disappointed in all of the darkness and evil that had spread through the world. So they- _shit_." The car suddenly lurched sideways and August could hear the whistle of the wind heighten as it swept around the car. "Oh my god."

"What?" August asked, alarmed by her terrified tone. "What is it?"

"A tornado," Anne said in awe. "A tornado just touched down on the other side of that field. We've got to get out of here."

"Out of the car," August said immediately. "There's no way to outrun a tornado." He shoved his door open, wrestling against the wind as it tried to press the door shut on him, and climbed out. Jogging around to the other side, he yanked Anne's door open and stuck out his hand. "C'mon, let's go, princess."

"Where are we supposed to go?" Anne asked, yelling to be heard over the wind.

"A trench or a hollow," August said. "Something low and protected. Unless there's a shelter around here, that'd be our best chance."

"There's a farmhouse just back on the road," Anne said.

August nodded. "They should have a shelter, or at the least a sturdy room to hide in. Go." Anne took his hand and led him as they started running back down the road. It was smooth, dry asphalt that made running a lot easier than it had been in the forest, and they covered the distance to the gravel driveway. By the time they had reached the yard raindrops had started pelting them, leaving stinging welts where they hit.

"Look for a storm shelter," August shouted. "A set of doors in the ground somewhere around the house."

"Over this way," Anne said, tugging at his arm. He made to follow when something blew into his back, sending him sprawling across the lawn. He groaned as he crawled back to his feet, his back smarting, but quickly accepted her hand again and stumbled behind her. She heaved the wooden door open and climbed down ahead of him. When he'd pulled it shut behind them, fastening it with a thick metal bolt, the sound of the storm lessened and they were at least protected from the rain.

The room they were in smelled of earth and dust, and the concrete walls gave off a sort of muffled echo of their breathing. He could tell by the sounds that they were the only ones in the place and wondered where the family that owned the farmhouse was. "You all right?" he asked.

"I think so," Anne said and she sounded shaken but fine. "You?"

"I'll live," August said, carefully making his way down the stairs until he reached the stone floor and then sat down. "What hit me, a cow?"

Anne snorted. "A fence post actually," she said. "Let me see if I can find a lamp down here and I'll check it over." August followed the sounds of her as she rummaged through the supplies around the room, which seemed to be stored away on shelves against the far wall, until she made a noise of excitement. There was a dull hiss and click, and then she let out a grateful breath. "That's better."

"Much, yeah," August said and she laughed softly. Anne walked around to stand behind him and ran a hand over his back. He winced and shied away as the touch sent a spasm through his spine. "Ow, God, maybe I won't live."

"You should be fine," Anne said. "It didn't even tear the fabric, so it'll be some bruises at worst. Take off your jacket so I can get a better look."

August peeled off the jacket and dropped it on the floor, listened to the sound of the wind raging above them. "We seem to be spending a lot of time with you putting band-aids on me, you know," he pointed out in amusement.

"You do seem to be a little accident prone," Anne said and August smirked.

"Only since I met you," he replied. "So what were you saying before, about the dagger?"

"Oh, right," Anne said. She pushed his shirt up to his shoulders and delicately traced the tender area with her fingertips. "Well the Gods were angry, so they unleashed a terrible sandstorm to wipe away everything. They wanted to clean the world and start fresh. But there was one young girl who begged that humans be spared, and offered her life in exchange. The Gods were so inspired by the girl's sacrifice that they saw hope again. So they gathered all of the sands from the storm and collected them into a sandglass, and called them the Sands of Time.

"Then they fashioned the dagger, which was given to the girl. She became the first guardian of the dagger. The dagger is the only thing strong enough to pierce the sandglass and unleash the Sands of Time. The hilt of the dagger can only hold enough sand to turn back time by one minute at a time, but if someone were to pierce the sandglass and press the button-"

"They could turn time back as far as they wanted," August concluded and she hummed in agreement. "That's what Henry wants. Invading your monastery was never about terrorism or weapons. He wanted this dagger and the sandglass hidden beneath your monastery. Because he wants to turn back time."

"Why?" Anne asked, letting his shirt slip back down. "You're fine, by the way. Nothing broken."

August sighed, closing his eyes and recalling the story. "My father used to love to tell us a story about when he was a boy," he started, dropping down to sit cross-legged on the floor. Anne sank down beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest. "He and Henry were still kids and they had gone camping together in the forest. They were hunting, when out of nowhere a huge bear charged out at my father. Henry leapt in and killed the bear just before it reached my father and saved his life. It was my father's favourite story. That's what Henry wants to undo. He wants to go back in time and not save my father. That way he will have been the only son and the natural heir to their father's position. That way my brothers will never have been born. He will be the leader instead of aide to the director."

The doors above them suddenly rattled and Anne let out a startled noise, drawing into August's side. As reflex, August wrapped his arms around her, patting her back until the wind softened and she pulled away. "Sorry," she murmured weakly and he could hear her fidgeting uncomfortably.

August pulled the dagger from his waistband again and fingered the ornate hilt curiously. He traced his finger around the gem at the tip, and then flipped open the end, where more sand was clearly meant to be added. "What happens if you open the dagger while it's piercing the sandglass?" he asked pensively.

"Then the Gods' will is set loose and the sands will wipe clean the earth like it was meant to do before," Anne said. "We need to return the dagger to safety before it falls into the wrong hands."

"We can't take it back to the monastery," August said. "My brother and his men are still there, it wouldn't be safe there."

"There's a temple in the forests north of the monastery, where more of my people live," Anne said. "Inside the temple is the stone that the dagger was carved from. We can return it there, and it will be safe. Just give me the dagger and I will be sure it's taken care of."

August chuckled and tucked the dagger into the inside of his jacket before stretching out on the cool floor lazily. "I don't think so, princess," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm coming with you. You can't honestly expect to pull this off on your own, can you?"

For a moment there was a stunned silence, and then Anne laid down on the ground beside him. "Well, it sounds like I'll just have to put up with you a while longer then, won't I?"


	17. Chapter Fifteen, A Reversal of Fortune

**Chapter Fifteen**

Nearly two hours had passed before the wind began to lessen outside, and another half of an hour before they dared to venture beyond their shelter. August insisted on going first, but Anne pointed out that she was the one who would see any dangers and stepped in front of him. She grunted as she shoved the doors upward and August drew up close behind her as she peered outside.

"Oh my god," she breathed in horror.

"What?" August asked. "Is there something out there?"

"No, there's nothing," Anne said. "Absolutely nothing. It's all – _gone_." She heaved the doors open completely and climbed out, and August followed behind her cautiously. The air smelled heavily of a storm, with the thick moisture and the heady scent of earth. August didn't make it two full steps before stumbling over a large something in his path. Bending down and running a hand over it, he realised it was a splintered wooden beam.

"Almost the whole house is gone," Anne said, sounding close to tears from a few feet ahead of him. "It's just a big pile of broken bits."

"It's okay, there was no one here, they're fine," August said.

"How do you know?" Anne asked.

"Because if they were in town they'd have been in the cellar with us," August answered simply, not wanting her to over-think the situation. "Come on, we should get going." He turned on the bracers on his arms, but the ground was so uneven they hardly did much good as he haltingly made his way over to where Anne's voice had come from. He reached out a hand tentatively and found her back, and then traced his way down until his hand was on her elbow. "Let's go, Annie. There's nothing more we can do here."

"Right," Anne agreed, and even though she sounded shaken she straightened her posture and started moving. She tried to warn him of approaching obstacles, but they were so many that even she had a hard time keeping her footing. Things got slightly better when they reached the road, but only slightly.

"Auggie, we've got another problem," Anne said and let out a weary sigh. "We no longer have a car."

"It's gone?" August asked.

"Well, not necessarily gone," Anne said. "But it's definitely totalled."

August groaned but nodded. "I guess it's back to walking then until we can find another ride. Really makes me wish America was a smaller country though, I'll tell you."

Anne made the smallest noise of amusement and then started moving again. They walked in silence, apart from the sporadic curses when one of them stumbled over something in their path. They had been walked for about a mile when a distant noise caught August's attention and he frowned. "Annie, we should get off the main road," he said, stubbing his toe against something as he concentrated on the sound.

"We're barely managing on here," she protested, steering him sideways around whatever he'd run into.

"Emergency crews are coming," he said. "They'll be out combing for survivors. I can hear a helicopter on its way already. As much as I wouldn't mind a lift, the law is the last people we want to catch a ride from."

Anne sighed wearily but she said, "Well hold on then, we're heading back toward the forest but it's a ways off." August had to cling tightly to her arm as they cut off the smoother road and into yards that had been churned up by the storm-tossed debris. People were emerging from their shelters around them, coming out to check the damage, but for the most part the fugitives were ignored in favour of more important matters.

They trudged across several miles of fields and yards, Anne always on the lookout for a possible ride while August focused entirely on not falling on his face on the dangerous terrain. Every part of him was aching from the various beatings he'd received over the last few days and he wanted nothing more than to stop and rest, and perhaps have a cup of coffee, but they had to keep moving. The sounds of sirens were still distant as the emergency teams had to dig their way through the rubble that littered the streets, but they were still far too close for his comfort. If there was one way to make sure that the CIA caught onto their trail again, it would be to get admitted by a paramedic.

"Nearly there now," Anne informed him and he could hear the relief in her voice as she lightly touched the hand on her upper arm. "No one would be mad enough to follow us into the forest; the place is a battleground. We're going to have a hard time getting through there."

"Which means so will anyone following us," August replied. "That's exactly what we need right now."

"So long as we survive it," Anne said dubiously.

"Don't be so cheerful," August teased sarcastically. "Stay just inside the edge of the tree-line, far enough we can't be seen, but close enough we can find our way out to check our progress."

"And look for a car," Anne added.

August shook his head. "A car won't do us any good until we find a road out of here that's not swarming with cops and paramedics."

Anne made an indistinct noise, torn between a sigh and a groan. Before he could comment on it, she squeezed his hand. "We're to the trees," she announced, slowing her pace. "Duck your head, the tree's fallen over."

Climbing through the forest was like the military training obstacle courses August had run with his brothers back on the Farm. A few metres into the trees August had to relinquish his grip on Anne's arm entirely so his hands were free for climbing, following her by sound alone. Not that it was difficult between her warnings about the terrain and her annoyed muttering.

"Auggie, it's getting dark," Anne said after they'd been walking for several hours. "Do you think it's safe yet?"

"Maybe," August replied, something else catching his attention. "There's water ahead. Let's get that far and we can figure it out from there."

"Water sounds good," Anne said a bit eagerly and August had to agree. They hadn't had anything to drink since the storm started – their bottled water being left in the car – and his throat was feeling raw. He didn't even want to think about the hunger gnawing a pit in his stomach, reminding him of the meagre little package of stale mini-donuts that he'd had for breakfast.

A half-mile later Anne made an excited noise, letting him know she'd finally spotted the water he had heard. "It's a river," she called back over her shoulder. "Wide and not too fast. We must not be far from the source, probably a lake if the size is any indication."

"Water features are an area of expertise for you?" August asked in amusement.

"The jungle around the monastery was full of rivers and lakes and falls," she explained, and then hastily added, "Low branch at two o'clock."

August lifted his right arm to shield his head. "Sounds pretty," he remarked idly.

"Beautiful," she said wistfully.

"Maybe you can give me a tour when this is all over," he suggested. "I didn't exactly get to look around much the last time I was there."

Anne muffled a laugh. "Sure, that sounds good," she said. "As long as your brother hasn't levelled the whole place yet." August grimaced, not wanting to consider the likelihood of that happening in his brother's frantic quest to justify the raid.

"Careful," Anne warned as they stopped at the edge of the river. "The rocks are really slippery here."

"Your concern is touching," he joked, crouching on the bank and trailing his hand in the cold water.

Anne snorted. "Well as much as you need a bath, it's probably best to avoid cracking your skull on a rock in the process. And I'm not jumping in to save your ass if you do."

"Thanks," he said sarcastically. She laughed as he cupped the water in his palms and lifted it to his mouth. "Hmm, not bad," he commented after he'd swallowed a small mouthful. "A little fishy."

"At this point, I could care less if it tastes like horseradish and liver," she said. August hummed his agreement and they lapsed into a few minutes of quiet as they rested from the long day.

It was Anne who finally broke the silence. "I was right about the lake," she said, a bit smugly. "It's about a quarter mile southwest of here, just downriver. I can't see much through the trees, but with how far into the forest we are, the town's probably not too much further after there."

August considered the information for a minute and then nodded. "We should be far enough from the tornado's touchdown point to be safe there, but we're still going to look suspicious walking out of the forest at night with no hiking gear. Unless..." He paused thoughtfully and turned downriver.

"You make me nervous when you get that look," Anne informed him. "What mad plan have you come up with now?"

"Nobody would suspect a honeymooning couple who slipped up to the lake for a little moonlit swim," he said, a mischievous smile curving across his lips.

"I'm not going skinny dipping with you," she replied instantaneously.

August stood up and dusted his hands on his jeans. "I promise I won't peek," he said with a grin.

"You're incorrigible," she said but he could hear the humour she was trying to hide.

"Oh c'mon, you did just say I needed a bath," he pointed out, offering a hand down to her.

"Well I didn't say that I wanted to watch it," she said.

August chuckled. "Now we both know that's a lie." Anne grunted indignantly and batted his hand away, standing up on her own. "Hey, take a joke, princess," he said playfully. "Look, we both take a dip, wander into town, and then take a room at the motel, letting it slip that we're a couple who went for a swim. Nobody will suspect a thing."

"You and your hare-brained schemes," Anne murmured, but her tone had softened and he knew he was out of trouble.

"After all," he added, "it's not like it's the first time you and I have gone for a dip together. You did drag me into that fountain, remember?"

"To save your life," she pointed out.

"Well keeping a low profile will save us again," he said. "Now are you coming or do I have to find my way there myself?"

Anne let out an exasperated huff, but she nudged his hand with her arm. She led him carefully along the edge of the river, where there were fewer obstructions. August felt the change in the air as the forest opened up around the lake, and he breathed deeply. After such a claustrophobic day, between the hours spent in the storm shelter and the cramped forest, it felt good to be in such an expansive area. The temperature had fallen with the sun, and the breeze coming off the water sent pleasant chills across his skin.

"How deep is it?" he asked, toeing out of his trainers and socks.

"Looks to be pretty deep," she replied as he shrugged off his jacket. "It's shallow for the first few feet, and then it drops off."

August grinned as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Excellent." He unclasped his arm bracers and dropped them onto his crumpled shirt.

"What are you up to?" Anne asked.

Instead of answering, August stepped out of his jeans and then took off running. Two steps into the water, he launched himself into the air. Curling his legs to his chest and looping an arm around them, he plummeted into the water. The cold washed over him and made his muscles momentarily freeze up. He struck out for the surface and when he broke out goose-pimples exploded across his face and shoulders.

"You're insane!" Anne shouted, laughing.

"Did I get a good splash?" he asked eagerly, shoving the damp curls back off of his forehead.

"You got me all wet," she responded.

August laughed. "Well now you have no excuse not to come in," he said. "So come on, Annie dearest."

"The water's freezing," she protested but he could hear the rustle of fabric and gravel as she moved about on the shore. He scrubbed his hands across his face and arms while he waited, scraping away the build-up of sweat and dirt from the day. It felt good to let it peel away, his cleaned, raw skin prickling in the cold.

"Come along, princess," he jeered playfully after a few seconds, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

"You asked for it," Anne said. There were crunching rocks and she let out a nervous yelp. She hit the water not five feet from him, sending a tidal wave up over his head. August chuckled, wiping the excess water from his face as Anne resurfaced.

"Nice one," he said and she laughed. He shook his head, sprays of water flinging from his curls, and she splashed water at him in protest. "What? You're already wet."

"You're such a child," she said with a muffled giggle. "And you kind of look like a drowned rat."

"Hey!" August lunged forward through the water to her and, flinging an arm over her shoulders, he shoved her beneath the surface. She wriggled free and popped up, spluttering indignantly.

"Oh now you've started it," she said and before he could throw up his arms she had latched onto him, pressing down on his shoulders. August kicked out fiercely to keep himself up, his tired legs barely keeping his mouth above the surface under the added weight. Twisting around, he hooked an arm around her waist and pried her off his back, half-tossing her down over his shoulder.

Anne came up right in front of him, spitting out a mouthful of water and laughing enthusiastically. She fastened her legs around his waist, planting her hands on his shoulders and attempting to push him down again. Trying to push her away, August set his hands on her hips and was momentarily startled to encounter so much bare skin, only the thin elastic side of her underwear between them. His shallow gasp made her stiffen and in that moment the both of them seemed to realise the situation they were in. Wearing only their underwear, Anne was wrapped around August's waist like some sad imitation of a belt and her bare torso was pressed closely to chest.

A flicker of heat rippled through August, colliding with his frigid skin and making him light-headed. As he tilted his head up, his nose brushed the fabric of her bra. Her elbows unlocked and she slid down to level with him, her breath warm on his wind-chilled face and her legs only loosely coiled around his. August felt his heart double-start, and the tension in the air had become thick and electrified. He strained his eyes against the darkness, wanting nothing more than to see her face and to read her expression.

"Auggie," Anne murmured quietly, her hand lifting lazily from his shoulder to push an errant curl away from his eye. "I-"

"Shh," August hissed quickly, his muscles tensing as an out-of-place noise caught his focus. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" she asked, her grip tightening on his shoulder apprehensively.

He frowned, cocking his head to one side to hear better, but the sound had disappeared. "Never mind," he said, shaking his head in annoyance at himself. "I thought I heard something but it must've just been a bird or a squirrel." His mind drifted back to their current circumstances just in time to catch the violent shiver that ran through Anne's body. As much as he wanted to feel responsible for the movement, the tingling in his extremities told him otherwise. "C'mon, we should get out before we freeze to death."

"Oh, right," she agreed and she relinquished her grip on him. She turned him by the shoulders in the direction of the shore where they'd left their things and they struck out for land. They stumbled ashore on shaking legs and tried to slick as much of the water from their skin as they could. "I'd kill for a towel right now," Anne murmured and he could hear the steady trickle of water as she wrung water from her hair.

"We'll get a room in town and you can take a proper shower and towel off," August said, shaking water from his hair and then crouching down, his fingers searching for his discarded clothes.

"To your right," Anne offered from a few feet away, puffing as she hopped up and down. "God, putting on jeans when you're wet is impossible."

August chuckled, finding his crumpled jeans and stepping into them. "They are when you wear them so tight," he said, although he was having a difficult time getting the fabric to stop sticking to his damp skin as well. "Not that I'm complaining about your skinny jeans," he added hastily with a cheeky grin.

"Charming," she said dryly.

"I try," he responded simply, running his tee-shirt seams through his fingers to check if his shirt was the right-way-out before pulling it on. "I've dropped one of my bracers somewhere, can you see it?"

"It's here," she said, and her bare feet padded softly over the rocks as she walked over and pressed the second brace into his hand.

"Thanks," he said, tucking the pair into his back pocket. "Can't put them on until I've dried off, I can't afford to short them out."

"No, then you'd really have to trust me," Anne said with a playful lilt to her voice.

"And the first thing you'd do is walk me straight into a car," he replied with a laugh, putting on his jacket to stave off some of the cold air. "No thank you." He crouched down and started laboriously putting his socks and shoes on, wrestling as the cotton absorbed the water caught in the creases of his feet. "I'm nervous enough just letting you lead me out of the forest already."

"I got you here, didn't I?" she pointed out. She let out a huff and slumped against his side, apparently having difficulties with her own shoes. Warm prickles broke out over August's skin where her arm was pressed against his, the warmth still tangible through the fabric, sending a thrill to the pit of his stomach. He was reminded of the tense, electrified moment they had just shared in the water and he could feel the heat coiling inside of him. What did it mean? Less than a week ago, he wouldn't trust her as far as he could throw her. And now, well now the briefest contact made a comfortable blaze light up in his chest.

Not that any of that mattered right now. They were in over their heads in some supernatural nonsense that he couldn't make heads or tails of, on the run from the very country they were currently inhabiting, and desperately seeking some sort of refuge. There were more important things to consider than the fact that at some point over the last few days he had grown rather fond of the stubborn priestess...

A crunching of leaves made August bolt to his feet, his muscles tensed and ready for a fight. Instantly there was a definitive clicking sound and he froze. The safety of a large gun. Click...click...click... Six of them all together, at intervals of several feet, surrounding he and Anne. Their only route of escape was straight into the water, although they'd surely be shot before they could reach the opposite shore.

"I knew I'd heard someone out there," August muttered angrily, furious with himself as he lifted his hands in surrender. He had heard movement in the trees before, but he had dismissed it as a trick of his imagination. His preoccupation with Anne had muffled his intuition.

"You should have trusted your gut." The voice that spoke from the lakeside surprised him; he had been expecting a clipped, professional federal man, not –

"Tash."

"You did not think I would let you slip away so easily, did you?" she asked, a hint of malice behind her casual tone.

"How did you find us?" he asked.

The rocks crunched under her steps as she approached him, and she reached around to pull his bracers from his pocket. "It's simple enough to place a tracker, Auggie, you should know that," she chastised mockingly. "And Agent August Anderson never goes anywhere without his technology, no?"

"Rigging the blind guy doesn't seem fair," he deflected, cringing at the loss of his bracers. If she didn't give them back, he was, well, _blind_. Even if he escaped, he wouldn't make it far without them, a fact that she knew all too well.

Natasha laughed wryly. "We both know that with these you are hardly at a disadvantage. After all," she continued more coldly, "you were still competent enough to destroy my life's work."

With a snap of her fingers, someone had seized August's arms and wrenched them around behind his back. A pair of large hands frisked him over and then he dagger was drawn from inside of his jacket. "Nice knife," hissed a voice that August recognised as the Israeli Mossad agent, Eyal.

"It's hard to run a tech centre when almost all of your computers are ruined," Natasha pressed on. "Everything that I have worked so hard to achieve was ruined in the fire that your little friend started."

Anne let out a pained yelp. "Don't hurt her," August growled. "Leave her out of this, Tash. I'm the one you're mad at."

"It turns out I'm not the only one who is upset with you, too," Natasha continued while the Israeli bound August's hands tightly. "We've been keeping tabs on the government broadcasts since you visited us last time, and there have been some interesting whispers. Rumours of a rogue CIA operative wanted for treason and murder, possibly in the company of a foreign ally. It has not been hard to put together the pieces."

"Tash, please, you have to und –" A strip of thick tape was pressed over August's mouth, cutting off his pleas.

"There is a high price on your head," Natasha said, and she touched his cheek almost affectionately. "Perhaps you and I are more alike than you thought. Perhaps you truly are an anarchist, killing the head of the CIA. I need help rebuilding my work, and I think delivering you straight to your precious family might just get me the favours I need."

"This isn't about that," Anne intruded. "This is bigger than you or us. We have an important mission, we have to get –" She was silenced as well, making a loud, indignant noise through her gag.

"I do not care about your _mission_," Natasha said, drawing the last word out sceptically. "I care about getting my operation moving again, and getting the truth to the people." Shifting her position, she said, "Get them to the truck. We have a long drive."


	18. Chapter Sixteen, The Ambush

AN: There you go, ComicalEphiphany, I got an update in not only less than seven months, but in less than seven days. Yay!

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><p><strong><span>Chapter Sixteen<span>**

August had been on a lot of unpleasant trips in his life, but being tied up in the back of the cargo truck definitely ranked fairly high on the list. He and Anne had been shoved unceremoniously into the back of the military style truck, sitting together on the floor against the inner wall. The gunmen piled in and lined the benches along either side of them, shifting their weapons in their laps in agitation. They were clearly avoiding the main roads and towns, sticking to the dirt tracks that had the captives jolting around uncomfortably on the hard floor. To make matters worse, the flimsy canvas shell of the truck bed didn't provide much protection from the cold night air and, in their damp clothes, August and Anne were freezing. Huddling together offered a little heat, but mostly it just resulted in them cracking their heads against each other every time the truck hit a bump.

They rode on for hours, straight through the night – long enough for August to lose the feeling in his fingers and for his body to accumulate a smattering of small bruises from bouncing around in the truck bed. His brief attempt at dozing hadn't ended well, because when he had finally nodded off they had turned a corner and he smacked his head roughly against the bench. After that he had turned his attention to taking in their surroundings, keeping tabs on anything that might offer them some chance of escape.

When the truck finally slowed to a stop, August felt the muzzle of a gun pressed into his shoulder and he scowled. They were obviously not taking any chances of him getting away again. Pride rankling at the injustice, he obediently stood carefully and allowed the gunmen to lower him out of the back of the truck. Anne stood close to his side when they had set her down and he could practically feel the waves of anticipation coming off of her. He wanted to say something to calm her – because her nerves were setting him on edge, and he needed her clear-headed if they were going to make a break for it – but they hadn't removed the tape from his mouth yet so he had to settle for nudging his shoulder against hers gently.

"Move their cuffs to the front," Natasha commanded from a few yards away, as if it was an after-thought.

"Ma'am?" one of the gunmen asked cautiously.

"They're going to need a restroom," she said pointedly. "Unless you want to hold it for him." August bristled at the comment and he felt the man behind him tense as well. "Don't worry, he won't run. Not if we keep a gun on his pretty little girlfriend." Her boots clicked as she walked up to him and abruptly tore the tape from his face. He couldn't fight the flinch as it tore at the stubble that had broken out over his jaw in the last few days. "Right, Auggie?"

There was a sharp click of a safety being released from a gun to his left and Anne's breathing picked up slightly. "I'll behave," he relented. "Just don't hurt her."

"Women always have been your soft spot," Natasha said with a touch of bitterness. "A pretty girl looks your way and she becomes all that is on your mind."

August smirked slightly. "A fact you know all too well, Tasha," he replied as the gunman released one of his wrists and then rejoined his hands in front of his stomach. Relief poured down from his shoulders and back, and he flexed his fingers to get the blood circulating properly again. "I recall you using it to your advantage more than once."

"Yes well clearly your mind has turned to other things since me," she said. "I never thought the Barbie-doll was your type," Anne made a furious noise through her gag, "but whatever works for you."

"In case you've forgotten, I'm blind," August said flatly. "I'm not the best at judging appearances. Besides, I've told you before, it's not like that with Annie and I. We're just helping each other out."

Natasha laughed sarcastically. "Right. So you have naked night-time swims with all your _friends_?" She didn't give him a chance to respond, not that he had a good answer anyway. Lowering her voice, she said, "Just because you are blind, Auggie, doesn't mean the rest of us are. I saw the way you looked at her."

And then she left him to ponder that as the gunman escorted him to the edge of their little makeshift camp.

. . . . .

August found it impossible to sleep that night. It wasn't just that he was lying on the hard ground with his hands cuffed and the Israeli was standing guard just feet left of his head, although that certainly didn't help. No, what was really keeping him awake was the ominous prickle running down his spine. He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen, but at the same time he wasn't sure he could trust his instincts. The loss of his arm braces had made him vulnerable, and that was making him paranoid.

Rolling onto his back, August closed his eyes and tried to relax his muscles. He was exhausted from the long day and he needed to be alert if they were going to find a way out of this. They couldn't let themselves be taken to Langley; the knife would be confiscated by his uncle, and he and Anne would surely be put to death. So somehow, they needed to escape from Natasha with the dagger, evade the CIA, flee the country, and then find this mysterious hidden temple before anyone else found _them_. Just thinking about it made another wave of anxiety burn through him, chasing sleep further away.

It had to be done though. He couldn't let his Uncle Henry erase his brothers from history; he couldn't let his father be murdered all over again. All of those people that had been saved, by his father and his brothers and even him – all of that would be undone. He couldn't let these things come apart. No matter what it cost, he had to make sure that Anne could get the dagger back to where it belonged.

Anne shifted about in her spot a few feet above his head and then let out a weary sigh. "Auggie?" she whispered tentatively. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," he responded, shrugging his shoulder to move it off a small rock that was protruding from the ground beneath him. "You can't sleep either?"

"Handcuffs aren't comfy," she said and he could hear the clink of metal as she fidgeted her wrists. "What are we going to do?"

The Israeli repositioned his gun, making it clear that he was listening to their conversation. Not that it mattered; August didn't have anything secret to spill. "I don't know," he admitted. "We'll think of something though. Don't worry, Annie, I'm going to make sure you get home safe."

"What about you?" The question caught him off guard and he glanced in her direction in confusion, arching an eyebrow as a question. "What are you going to do when this is over? I mean once we put the dagger into the stone, it won't come out again. Are you still going to try and go home and prove your innocence or…"

August's mind was racing as she trailed off. What would he do? He couldn't prove anything to his brothers without the dagger. Was he supposed to spend the rest of his life on the run? Or was he supposed to go home and face punishment for a crime he hadn't committed? "I haven't really thought about it," he confessed. "I've been more focused on getting through all of this first." Anne hummed thoughtfully. "What about you? You can't go back to your monastery while the CIA is still tearing it apart. They're after you too."

"I don't know," she said, but there was something strange in her voice that he couldn't place.

"Maybe we'll have to run away together," August suggested to lighten the tone. She had sounded too – _resigned_. "How long do you think we could keep up this jet-setting adventure thing if we expanded it to worldwide? Just you and me travelling the world together, and all those exotic waters to skinny dip in."

Anne laughed. "In your dreams, soldier boy," she said but without the usual tint of annoyance and sarcasm she usually reserved for his flirting. Was it possible she was considering it? He had meant it as a joke, but maybe it wasn't that bad of an idea. It was certainly better than either of his other options at the moment.

With a loud humph, Anne shifted around again. "My God, you'd think we were sleeping in a quarry. Everywhere I try to put my head, there's a rock."

August chuckled. "C'mere then. I'll slide up there and you can use me as a pillow."

"What's the matter, Auggie? Can't stand to sleep without me for even one night?" she teased.

August snorted in mock offence "Gees, a guy tries to be nice and see what he gets. Fine, you can snuggle with the rocks then."

"Oh quit being so dramatic and get up here," Anne said with a laugh.

Grinning, August dug in his heels and pushed himself up the three feet toward her, just in time to experience a sharp, piercing pain through his the bottom of his ribcage. Even as he was gasping at the shock, his mind had already processed what it was; he'd been shot enough times to recognise the feeling. Around him he could hear the choked gasps of several others who had met with similar fates.

"Auggie!" Anne shrieked in terror, immediately pressing her hands down against the wound.

August grit his teeth; he knew there was only one chance of saving them all now. He reached up and found the narrow chain around Anne's neck, and ignored her yelp of surprise as he broke it free. Rolling over to the other side – fighting a wave of nausea at the searing pain that coursed through his cracked sternum – he felt around until he came across the body of the Israeli where it had fallen. There was a gun on his ankle, another on his hip, an array of small throwing knifes in a strap across his torso, and – _there!_

Jerking the dagger from the man's belt, August sat up and opened the jewelled end with a thumb. He twisted the sand container open between his teeth and dumped the little amount of sand into the hilt of the dagger. Anne's gasp told him she had realised what he was doing just as he closed it and depressed the gemstone.

The world around him imploded in waves of pure gold. He was prepared for it this time and as he pin-wheeled back thorough time, he carefully analysed the situation. They were camped just off a side road, not far from a cluster of dense plant-life. The bullets flew out of the bodies of the fallen men and disappeared into the bushes or crops, whatever they were. He marked the spots in his memory just as he felt the sinking pull start in his stomach, and he was thrown back into his body and the darkness.

"Oh quit being so dramatic and get up here," Anne said through her laughter.

August threw himself to the left, rolling until he collided with the legs of the Israeli and sent him sprawling. Behind him Anne gave a short yelp when a bullet clipped a rock where August's head had been just a split second before. Drawing up the map in his mind, he wrestled the gun from the Israeli's ankle, got to his knees, and fired off several shots. Through the chaos his ears caught at least two choked shouts.

Next to him the Israeli seemed to have picked up on what was happening, because he also drew a gun and let loose a full clip. Between to two of them they managed to stop the return fire in a matter of seconds.

"Annie, you okay?" August asked the moment he dropped the gun.

"Fine," she responded, clearly shaken. "You?"

"Peachy," he said breathlessly.

"That was impossible," the Israeli said, his awe evident. "There was no way you could've acted that fast or known where to shoot."

"Never underestimate the instincts of a blind man," August said, scooting on his knees to where Anne was and reaching out his bound hands for her. She took his hands in hers, squeezing them reassuringly.

"Especially when that blind man is August Anderson," Natasha chimed in from behind him. "What the hell just happened? More than half of my men are dead."

"You're shot," the Israeli said in worry.

"I'm fine," she replied dismissively.

August chuckled. "Still wearing Kevlar every time you leave the house?"

"Of course," she said. "Now would one of you explain this?"

"An ambush," August said shortly. "Someone with no morals, obviously, if they were willing to take out so many people just to get to Anne and I." He withheld what he had guessed from using the dagger; for some reason they had taken out everyone except Anne. Whoever these people were, they wanted her alive for something.

"Eyal, go check on those men, see if you can figure out who sent them," Nathan said, and the Israeli hurried to comply after retrieving his gun from where August had dropped it. "You two," she said, obviously directed at her captives, "don't move. I have to tend to my men."

As soon as Natasha was out of earshot, he heard the tinkling sound of Anne fiddling with her necklace. "The sand is gone," she noted. "You used the dagger?"

"Sorry but we were all going to die otherwise," he said, his hands unconsciously drifting to where the bullethole in his sternum had been.

"How did you even know I had it?" she asked curiously.

"Didn't I just tell you not to underestimate the blind guy?" August replied rhetorically, making her laugh softly. "Quit asking so many questions, it ruins my mystique." He bumped his arm against hers playfully but then paused. She had winced. Alarmed, August seized her arm awkwardly with his cuffed hands and searched out the cause, finally finding a long burn across her upper arm that was slowly dripping blood.

"I'm fine," she said immediately. "One of the bullets ricocheted and caught me, that's all. It just took off a bit of skin."

"Natasha, can we get some bandages over here? Annie's been hit," August called across the camp. He kept his palm pressed firmly against the wound until Natasha walked over several minutes later and nudged him aside.

"What are you two involved in?" she asked as she wrapped the bandage around Anne's arm. "Three of my men are dead, and Coulson is close to it. I think you owe me an explanation."

"Mercenaries," the Israeli shouted, interrupting August before he could even start. "Hired shots by the look of it. All of them have the mark of the Black Hand."

"Impossible," August cut in. "The Black Hand was disbanded decades ago. My father saw to it personally."

"Well then he didn't do a very good job of it," the Israeli retorted.

Anne grabbed August's arm as he made to stand, stopping him from attacking the other man. "What's the Black Hand?" she asked to diffuse the situation.

"Mercenaries for hire," August explained tensely. "They used to work for the CIA – completely off book, of course. They were used to take care of the jobs that the government couldn't legally sanction. Thefts, assassinations, things that were too high risk to send in operatives. But my father dissolved them when he took office and put a stop to all black ops, I remember my uncle telling me abo-" He suddenly trailed off, the answer occurring to him and making him stomach sink. "Of course. Uncle Henry. If my father issued the order, Henry would've been the one to carry it out. He must have just made my father believe he disbanded them. Dad wouldn't have had any reason to think otherwise."

"So your uncle is now sending trained assassins after us?" Anne asked and her grip tightened on his forearm.

"You did murder the head of the CIA," Natasha said pointedly.

"No, I didn't," August snapped, feeling the ache reopen in his chest. "I was set up. You know me, Tash. You know how much my family means to me. I could never kill my dad, and you know that."

There was a long, tentative pause and then Natasha said, "Okay, then why are they after you? Why the assassins? Why not just bring in the police and have you arrested?"

"Because he wants me silenced," August said darkly. "He won't risk me telling people about all of this. About him ordering the raid on the monastery, or poisoning my father. He can't risk anyone looking into it."

"What is all of this about?" the Israeli asked suspiciously.

"The dagger that you took from me," August said. "I can't explain all of it, but it's important. It was stolen from a monastery in Sri Lanka where Annie serves. We can't let my uncle get his hands on it. That's why Annie and I are trying to get out of the country, so we can hide it somewhere safe."

"All of this over that little knife?" Natasha asked sceptically.

"I know it sounds insane, but it's true," August said earnestly. "Just let us go. You can't take us to Langley anymore, Henry just proved he's willing to kill anyone to get to us. He won't help you. He will kill you and make sure that this time you disappear for good."

"Why should I help you?" Natasha asked, a touch bitterly.

"Because the story is yours," Anne cut in abruptly. "If you help us get out of the country, you can have the story to share. All of it. Secret weapons, government espionage, greedy spies killing each other, an attack on holy ground, an international man-hunt. You can't tell me you don't want to make sure this secret is shared with the world, because you know the government is going to brush it under the rug. If you help Auggie and I get to Sri Lanka, we will give you every little detail that you want."

August had to swallow back the smug smirk that was threatening to consume his face. Anne had just offered something that Natasha would never be able to reject. He could practically hear the gears grinding in her head as she tried to find some loophole. "Eyal, take off their cuffs," she said finally. The Israeli made a confused sound. "They're going to help us give our men a proper burial, and then we're going to Sri Lanka."


	19. Chapter Seventeen, New Beginnings

AN: I'm posting this with absolutely no promises of there being another post coming in the near future. It seems like every time that I say I'm doing well with this story, my muse abandons me, especially when I hit these necessary filler chapters. So basically not a lot happens, and it's long overdue, but here we go.

Also all of you that are still following this story can thank my special reviewer, Emerald Eyed Phoenix, for this update. Your messages are what stoked my muse back to life after all this time, so e-brownies for you!

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><p><strong><span>Chapter Seventeen<span>**

Riding in the front of the truck turned out to be only the slightest bit more comfortable than being held captive in the back had been. August and Anne were cramped together on what hardly qualified as a "back seat," being nothing more than a metal bench with a tarpaulin draped over the top. Natasha and the Israeli were filling the front bench, both of them carrying a gun as the latter drove them back toward their compound.

They were still sticking to the smaller state roads and without seat belts they had bounced around so much that August was sure his tailbone would be permanently damaged. And that wasn't even to mention the particularly hard lurches that made him land in compromising positions, injuring an extremely sensitive part of his anatomy. It did make him feel sorry for the injured man in the bed of the truck, who was being tended by Natasha's last remaining man.

They didn't stop once on the way into the Ouachita forest, driving for seven straight hours down winding forest roads until they reached the compound just before sundown. While Natasha and her men set about getting the injured soldier to the medical room and refilling the supplies in the truck, August and Anne were told quite plainly to remain in the back seat of the truck.

"If I have to chase you down again, I _will_ shoot you," Natasha threatened before sliding down out of the passenger seat.

August groaned and stretched his arms as far over his head as the low ceiling would allow, feeling the stiff muscles of his spine contorting. The night before and most of the morning had been spent in digging graves for Natasha's men who had fallen, hours of shovelling in the rock-laden soil with his already aching body. He hadn't been able to reject the task though, both because Natasha had stipulated it as part of her agreement to help them and because he felt it he owed the men as much. His short trip back in time had granted him only enough of a gap to save himself and - purely by accident - the Israeli. It was because of him that those three other men had died, all of them with no understanding of what they had died for.

"Are you all right?" Anne asked. A loud pop issued from August's lower back and he grunted as he let his arms drop again, grateful for even the small amount of relief it had offered.

"Just sore," he responded tightly, his smile unconvincing. She settled her hand atop his where it had fallen onto his thigh, and the reassuring squeeze was more comforting than he cared to admit.

"I wouldn't say no to a proper night's sleep," Anne said. There was a dull thunk as her head dropped back against the partition that separated them from the cargo bed. "I feel like we haven't slept in days."

"There'll be time to sleep on the plane," he pointed out. "It's a long flight." Anne made a non-committal noise, lifting her hand away from his to comb through her hair - or at least that's what he reckoned she was doing by the whispery sound and the faint whiff of grapefruit. "At least we're heading in the right direction now," he added. "We've got help, and a lift out of the country. We're a lot better off than we were this time yesterday. And just think, this time tomorrow we'll be on a plane back to Sri Lanka."

"Yeah," she said distractedly. He heard her shifting in the spot next to him, could feel her eyes flitting across the side of his face. "Auggie, did you -" She gave an awkward huff and trailed off.

"Did I what?" August pressed curiously, tilting his head in the direction of her soft breaths.

Anne made another agitated noise and then said in a tone of feigned casualness, "Did you mean what you said last night? About what we'll do after we deal with the dagger?"

August felt his eyebrows hitch in surprise but tried to contain it. "You mean about us running off together?" he asked and she gave a small hum of agreement. "Well sure, sounds like a decent plan to me. We've been doing fairly well for ourselves so far, don't you think? Apart from where we keep getting caught anyway. But I think we make a pretty good team."

"Yeah, we kind of do," she said and he could hear the small smile in her voice. Her hand nudged his gently and he made to take it when the front door of the truck suddenly opened with a loud click. The musky scent preceded the grunt of Eyal the Israeli hauling himself up into the driver's seat. A split second later the passenger door opened and Natasha climbed into her seat.

"Coulson is receiving medical attention now, so we can leave. We should be in Hot Springs in an hour," the Russian announced without preamble.

"Hot Springs?" August asked, raising his eyebrows. "That sounds fun. What are we heading there for?"

"We have a private hangar there," Natasha answered. "Eyal called ahead and they will have the plane ready for us by the time we get there. Everything will be cleared with the FAA and we can get out of the country without any trouble."

"You have a private plane?" August asked, this time in unrestrained awe. "When did you get that?"

"I have to get my equipment to the base somehow," she replied like it was obvious. "It's flown in from other countries in secret and then driven into the base."

August chuckled, shaking his head. "Your resourcefulness never ceases to amaze me," he said.

"I know," Natasha said and there was a suggestiveness in her voice that made August's ears burn red. He sputtered slightly, scrambling to come up with a response to that reminder of so long ago that wouldn't get him into worse trouble, but thankfully he was saved by the rumble of the engine turning over. As the truck swayed while backing out of the compound lot, Anne leaned away from him and her hand slipped from his.

The next hour was spent clinging onto the seat for dear life as they blazed down dirt roads toward the air strip. August didn't have the focus to ask Anne about her sudden evasiveness, since all of his attention was on trying not to yelp when his various injuries were battered against the walls of the truck. He didn't even dare open his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose as his back and shoulder throbbed out of rhythm, in case he did something unacceptable like whimper. His ego had suffered enough in the last week.

They reached stable, paved roads only minutes before the truck finally slowed amid the thrumming engines of planes. "Pull around to the back of the hangar," Natasha instructed and the engine whined as the Israeli shifted the gears down. "We cannot risk someone recognizing them." They finally rolled to a stop several meters ahead and the engine cut out. "Follow me," Natasha said over her shoulder.

August groaned as he slid awkwardly out of the back of the truck and his muscles protested the movement. He stumbled slightly on landing, the hours of inactivity making his swollen ankle stiff. The smells of petrol and oil were overpowering in the cold air and the buffeting winds off the propellers disoriented him, making August edgy. He hated feeling so helpless, especially as Natasha had yet to return his arm braces. He leaned against the truck and the sudden prickling hum along his spine was the only warning he got before a soft hand touched his arm.

"You okay?" Anne asked as she set his hand in the curve of her arm.

"That was not a fun ride," he said in response and heard her muffled laugh. She led him carefully through the echoing concrete space and he was forced to put his trust entirely in her since he couldn't make sense of anything around him. "And this place is loud and smells weird."

"Yeah, it's a pretty small airfield. Stairs," she warned and slowed to allow him to find the bottom step before continuing. "About a dozen hangars, small planes. There's only a couple people at one of the hangars on the other side, looks pretty deserted apart from them. Not too surprising since it's getting close to midnight now I reckon."

August kept his free hand out as Anne led him up through the plane, trying to get a basic feel for the layout of the confined space, but there wasn't much to find. Anne set his hand on the back of a seat against the wall and then dropped heavily onto the seat next to him. "Not quite first class," August noted as he sank down beside her.

"This plane isn't big enough for first class," she responded. "A big empty cargo room in the back, a closet that I'm assuming is a restroom, and up here there's just two benches along the walls and the cockpit."

"We are trying to stay under the radar," Natasha cut in from the other side of the plane. "I was not keeping a 747 in a small airfield like this. Besides, it is rare that people ride in the plane, it is mostly for equipment."

"Everything is loaded," Eyal said, his footsteps heavy in the echoey space. "We're set to go, Anthony."

"Aye aye, boss," spoke up a man's voice from the front, and August assumed it was the pilot. There was a series of beeps and then the plane began to vibrate as the engine roared into life. As it started to wheel out onto the airstrip, August's hands fumbled around until he found the belt in the seat and hastily clicked it.

"You still do not like planes?" Natasha asked, the amusement all too evident in her voice.

"They're not my favourite mode of transportation," he answered as calmly as he could. "Especially not when they are small and feel like they're falling apart. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to pray until we level out."

"You'll be fine," Annie said and dropped her head onto his shoulder playfully. August hissed and flinched away as she hit the scrape from the bullet. "Oh God, sorry, are you okay?" She touched his shoulder and he heard her inhale sharply. "Auggie, you're bleeding."

"I'm fine, I think," he said. "That's just where that bullet hit me a few days ago."

"From the ambush?" Natasha asked.

"No, from my uncle's bodyguard," August explained and flexed his shoulder experimentally. The scabbing split and cracked. "Although I guess technically that was kind of an ambush too."

"You never said anything about being shot," Anne said and there was something in her tone that sounded dejected.

"We were running for our lives, I kind of had other things on my mind," August reminded her. "A bit of a scrape was the least of our concerns."

"As soon as we level out I will look it over," Natasha said. "You don't want it to be infected, no? Not like the other time."

August wrinkled his nose and laughed at the memory. "Right, yeah, that was not fun," he agreed passively. "Sure made sitting down a bitch, I'll tell you that."

"You whined about your ass for weeks," Natasha added with a chuckle.

"And you so sympathetically kept telling me to stop being a baby," August recalled in amusement. "Empathy is not one of your strong traits." The plane caught a burst of turbulence and August gripped the edges of the seat tightly as he struggled to control his heart rate. Across from him Natasha giggled. "I present exhibit A," he said once he'd regained the ability to speak. "Absolutely no sympathy at all."

"None," the Russian agreed. "I know how much you fly for work and it makes me laugh that you are _still_ afraid of planes."

"Not so much the planes themselves as the crashing part," August amended weakly. As the plane began to pitch again August dug his fingers into the worn leather and tried to focus on the conversation Natasha was having with the Israeli on the other side of the plane. He would have prodded Anne into talking to him for some distraction, but judging by the silence from her seat it seemed like she had finally fallen asleep and he didn't want to wake her. They had gone far too many hours without proper rest.

It felt like hours later – although he reckoned it was probably only fifteen minutes – when the plane finally stabilized and the distinctive click of Natasha's heeled boots approached him. "Come on, August, let's look at your wounds," she said and took his hand for a lead. "Make sure you don't die, yes?"

"You'd like that too much, wouldn't you?" August joked.

Natasha laughed softly. "Some days, yes," she said simply and then tugged on his arm. August awkwardly unbuckled himself one-handedly and then stood to follow her, holding onto her bicep for directions. Natasha walked him back toward the rear of the plane and then pushed him down to sit on top of what turned out to be a large wooden crate. "Shirt," she commanded, her voice muffled by the sounds of her rummaging through something else.

"Oh I see what this is," August said with a grin. "You just couldn't wait to get my shirt off again."

The Russian snorted. "Please, it is nothing I have not seen before," she responded.

"Harsh," August said, but he complied and pulled off his jacket and shirt, feeling his muscles and injuries stretch at the movement. "Who am I kidding myself anyway; you've got a new piece of man-candy to ogle at now. How long you been with Captain Israel?"

"You cannot pretend to be the jealous ex-boyfriend, August," she said patronizingly. "If I have a relationship with Eyal it is not your business."

"Hey now," August said, grabbing her wrist gently as she made to reach for his shoulder. "I know it's been a long time but that doesn't mean that I don't still care about you, Tash." He released her and dropped the intensity of his tone before continuing, "And don't try to tell me there's no relationship with him. I can hear the way he talks to you. That's a man in love."

"Much like you," Natasha rebutted and August tensed. "I remember that look, August. I know you care for the blonde."

"Tash, I–" Natasha abruptly pressed a cloth of antiseptic against the open wound on his shoulder and he yelped, flinching so hard he bit his tongue. "Jesus, a little warning, would ya?"

"Not when I can see you are about to lie to me," she said and returned to dabbing at the burns and scabs on his shoulder.

"I wasn't going to lie," he objected. "I was going to evade. There's a difference."

"You don't have to," she said. She grasped his shoulder and pried at the scabbed skin, making him wince. "I see that you love her."

"Things are a bit more complicated than that at the moment," August said but he didn't bother arguing the actual fact with her anymore. He wasn't sure if love was what he was feeling, but he couldn't deny that there was a very strong attraction where the priestess was concerned. "Besides, she hardly tolerates me most of the time."

"As did I," said Natasha and he could hear the smile in her voice. "She cares much for you though. You're blind, but I see it." She began carefully wrapping a bandage around his shoulder. "She is jealous of me, that is why she is sulking up there now. She thinks you still love me."

August frowned and glanced in her direction, and she laughed again. "We have both moved on, August, I know it is true. I was mad with you at first - I'm still mad with you - but I'm not stupid. I know that we would never have lasted. We have the same passion, but for different things. Sad but true."

"That doesn't mean I don't still love you, Tash," he said softly.

"Not in the way that you did though," she said and tied off the bandage. She knelt in front of him and traced the various cuts that peppered his torso and arms, making him shudder. "It's fine. I feel the same. But Eyal is good to me, and he can love the pieces of me that you could not because of your duties. And I see that Anne loves the pieces of you that I could not, no matter how hard I tried."

"Either way, it doesn't really matter at the moment," he said, pushing his emotions back behind the carefully constructed wall in his mind. "We've got more important things to worry about."

"Yes, your mission, I know," she said with the slightest bit of condescension. "With your magic, important knife that everyone wants."

August chuckled at the tone of her voice. "You don't have to believe it, but it's true," he said. "You'll see, once we get to the hidden temple. And then you can tell the story to the whole world."

"That's the part I like," she said triumphantly. "Your girl, she's good. She knows that I would help for that. What else did you tell her about me?"

"I didn't tell her that, really," he said. "She is just good at reading people."

"Except you," Natasha said. She patted his back and stood up. "You will be fine. You look like you showed up empty-handed to a gang fight, but nothing is infected. I think if you can get out of your own way, everything else will be just fine as well."

She headed for the front of the plane again but August spoke up and stopped her. "Tash," he said and waited for the sound of her steps to halt. "Thank you. For all of this."

"Do not thank me yet," she said in amusement. "We still have a long way to go, and two more airports where I could easily decide you are not worth the trouble."

"Always encouraging, you are," he said, standing up and pulling his shirt back on over his head. "Oh, and since we're in an enclosed space miles off the ground, you think I could have my braces back? It's not like I'm going to run off on you, and even if I did, I'm sure you haven't taken the tracker off them yet."

Natasha seemed to be considering it, and then she walked over and took his hand. "Just don't jump." She pressed the braces into his open palm and patted him on the arm before disappearing into the front of the plane again.

August smiled and set about strapping his braces into place again, flexing his wrists in the familiar, comforting leather. As he flicked them on and began taking a sweep of the area, he thought about what Natasha had told him. His own feelings he couldn't begin to make sense of, so he turned his mind to what she had said about Annie.

Was it true that she could feel something similar to what he felt for her? Sure, he had felt a spark flowing between them that night in the lake, and she hadn't pulled away. And then of course there was the fact that she seemed to be taking him up on his joking offer to run away together after they had finished with this dagger business. That had to mean something, didn't it?

That might also explain her recent hot-and-cold behaviour toward him. At one minute she would be friendly and maybe even a bit flirty, and then she would suddenly pull away again. The more he thought it over, the more he began to realise that almost every instance seemed to come when he and Natasha had shared some joke about their past together. Was she really jealous of his ex-girlfriend? Had she pulled away thinking that they were rekindling what had once been there? It seemed crazy, but at the same time…

After he had taken stock of the storage room, he carefully wound his way toward the front of the plane. He managed to map out the area where the small bathroom was tucked against the right-hand side, and then into the open space just behind the cockpit. Cautiously, he found the bench he had recently vacated and sat down, tilting his head in the direction of grapefruit. "You're still not very good at pretending to be asleep," he said with a grin. Now that he was properly paying attention, he could hear the short, crisp sound of her breathing.

"I'm not pretending to be asleep," she replied. "I'm just resting. You're the one making assumptions."

"Yeah, I guess so," he agreed, leaning back into the squishy leather. "Although that's mostly because sleeping is what I want to be doing right now."

"So go to sleep," Anne drawled.

"I can't, my shoulder's killing me now," he said and rolled the offending joint. "Tash's not quite so gentle as you when it comes to bandaging me up. She's apparently developed a bit of a sadistic streak that didn't work out in my favour."

"Can't imagine what brought that on," Anne said sarcastically.

"Oh I know where it came from," August said and laughed. "I think I'll definitely stick to having you take care of me from now on though. My chances of survival are a bit higher with you."

"A bit, maybe," she said but her tone had softened. August grinned, grateful to feel the walls around her crumbling again, slowly but surely.

"Besides," he added, "if you and I are going to be globe-trotting together, odds are you're going to have to put a few more band-aids on me at some point."

"You do seem rather hell bent on getting yourself hurt," she said and nudged his shin playfully with her foot. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you liked it."

"Just the part where it makes you be nice to me, princess," he answered with a cheeky smile, and he relaxed when she responded with a laugh. Any deeper feelings aside, it was always much safer to have her as an ally. Everything else they could worry about later.


	20. Chapter Eighteen, International Flight

AN: Gah, how did no one tell me how many spelling errors there were in this story?! I went back through and re-read this and I was a little horrified by how desperately I need a spell check. Clearly I am suffering from the lack of beta much more than I thought... So in other words, the story has been fully edited for spelling and continuity, and I could probably use a beta if anyone is interested.

Also I forgot to mention this last time, but no spoilers for CA in reviews. I only got to watch the first half of the last season, so I haven't seen anything after the mid-season break. Please try not to spoil it before I get to watch it. :)

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><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen<strong>

"Okay, of all of the strange things that I've had to do in the last week, this is definitely the weirdest," August said in shock, still trying to process what Natasha had just told them.

"You're the fugitive that wants to escape from his country," the Russian responded nonchalantly. "We have to land in Puerto Rico to refuel before heading across the ocean. The government will be monitoring all flights out of the country. They are looking for you. This is the only way that we will make it passed security."

"By hiding in the false bottom of your plane?" August reiterated in amusement. "How very Star Wars of you."

To his surprise, Natasha laughed softly. "That is where I had the idea," she admitted. "You made me watch that film enough times. This is more sophisticated though, thanks to Eyal's help."

"The chamber locks remotely from the outside, completely flush so that it cannot be detected from this side," the Israeli explained. "It is completely pressurized and insulated, no air in and out. Even if anyone notices the hollowness, they'll have no reason to suspect that a person could survive in there."

"So how _do_ we survive?" August asked uncertainly.

"Sedatives that lower the heart rate," Eyal said. "They drop the body temperature as well as the need for oxygen. The lowered heart rate and temperature stop people from appearing on scans. There are oxygen tanks that are fed into the chamber that will keep you alive until we have taken off again and are far enough away from the airports scans."

"This does not sound pleasant," August said and he heard Anne hum her agreement from his side. "I don't like being in planes, but somehow being locked in a cupboard on the outside of the plane sounds infinitely worse."

"It's not outside of the plane," Natasha countered. "The chamber is built into the frame, between the outer wall and the inner cabin."

"It's time, ma'am," Anthony the pilot announced from the cockpit. "Thirty minutes until landing. Now or never."

"Right," Natasha said and she began walking toward the storage bay of the plane. She must have gestured for them to follow because Anne took his arm and steered him after her. He could hear her opening boxes and then she approached him. She pressed two small spheres into his palm and closed his fist around them so he wouldn't drop them. "Take these; they accelerate the sedatives."

"Are you sure this is safe?" he asked, fingering the capsules anxiously.

Natasha sighed and then he caught the sound of her swallowing thickly. "There, I have taken them," she said. "Trust me now?"

"Not completely," he said honestly, but he popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed. He grimaced at the bitter taste as they dissolved slightly on the back of his tongue before slipping down his throat. "Now what?"

Natasha took his arm and turned it, the inner arm facing upward, and before he could ask what was happening something sharp lanced into the curve of his elbow. "Ow, Christ!" he snapped, drawing his arm against his chest protectively as the puncture wound throbbed. "What do you have against giving a guy a fair warning?"

"Do you really want the answer to that?" Natasha replied and the was a hint of animosity in her tone that gave him the response clearly enough. She might be playing nice for the time being, but that didn't mean she had forgiven him. Hell hath no fury... He heard the pressurized lance of a needle twice more, combined with a sharp wince from Anne. He couldn't tell exactly what was happening, but there were grating scrapes and a hiss of air escaping. "In, quickly."

"I have a bad feeling about this," August muttered and Anne snorted back a laugh. His heart leapt and he couldn't fight the grin at realizing she'd understood the joke. He followed the sound of Natasha's breathing and she took his extended hand and placed it on the lifted trapdoor. His other arm did a quick sweep of the hidden room with his lasers and he frowned. "Not very big," he noted.

"It was designed for one to fit comfortably," Natasha said.

"So with three it'll be cosy," he concluded. "Or is it four? I haven't heard from the other one recently."

"I'm not the one with a bounty on my head," Eyal said dismissively. "I am free to travel as I like."

"Right," August said and grimaced. He could already feel the sedatives beginning to take effect, a slight warmth spreading through his muscles. "And you're sure this isn't some elaborate ploy to off me, right?"

"God, August, just move!" Natasha said in exasperation.

"I'll go," Anne volunteered suddenly. She slipped around passed August and dropped into the cavern. "Come on," she said and took his hand, tugging lightly. "Not much of a drop, three feet maybe." August perched on the edge of the hole and after turning off his arm braces he slid down, finding the ground exactly where she'd said. "Watch your head," she warned from below him and he crouched down as well. The place was cramped, perhaps six feet by seven, and there was only a two and a half foot gap from floor to ceiling.

He forced his legs in ahead of himself, stretching out awkwardly along the floor with Anne laying pressed into his side. "There's no way there's room for another in here," August said, feeling only inches between his shoulder and the opposite wall.

"So budge over," Natasha said, her feet landing close to his ear.

"What-?" August asked, but Anne's movement silenced him. She turned onto her side and tugged him closer, and once he'd moved she wedged herself into the small corner of space between his body and the top. Natasha slid in on his other side, squeezed in so close beside him that her mane of curly hair was covering his face, tendrils caught against his lips.

"Eyal, hand me the masks," Natasha said. As she fidgeted around on his other side August was forced to scoot even closer to Anne, looping his arm around her back to give them more room to breathe. Natasha's thin-fingered hands settled a plastic mask over his mouth and nose and threaded the elastic band behind his head. "Try to breathe shallow," she commanded, reaching passed him to hand another one to Anne.

"Like I can possibly take a deep breath in this small a space," he retorted dryly, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask. "You know, in normal circumstances, I wouldn't really complain about getting this cosy with ladies." He couldn't be sure which one of the girls did it, or whether it was intentional or an accident, but he received a sharp elbow to the ribs that silenced him.

"Eyal, the door," Natasha said.

"See you in a few hours," the Israeli responded and then the door shut with a heavy thunk. Seconds later came the suction sound of the room being sealed off.

Although the room itself was cold, their bodies were generating more than enough heat to make the cramped space muggy. August felt sweaty and slick every place that his body made contact with the others, contrasted against the chills racing up his back from the metal floor. There was a sharp knee prodding into his thigh and Anne's weight pressed into his side was making breathing even more difficult. A long dormant claustrophobia that he thought he had conquered began to resurface, and he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on slowing his breathing.

"God, I hope this works," he mumbled.

"If not we'll probably be dead before we wake up," Natasha answered, her voice muffled and nasal beneath the oxygen mask.

August managed a weak chuckle. "Thanks for your reassuring words of comfort, Tash," he said sarcastically. Anne moulded herself more tightly into his side, her head nuzzled into his collar, and he settled his arm more comfortably across the middle of her back.

The tension was think in their hideaway and August knew if it wasn't for the sedatives seeping through their systems then their heartbeats would be frantic and deafening in the confined space. None of them dared speak anymore, not that there were any words left to say. August's brain felt thin and fuzzy, like cobwebs stretched out by the wind, by the time the plane reached the first patch of turbulence signifying descent. The inklings of panic that had formed only minutes before had started to fall apart, but he had a hard time stringing together the thoughts necessary. There was nothing left to do but wait.

A hand fisted in the front of August's shirt and he managed to slip his free arm out from beneath Natasha and set his palm on the hand. "Auggie?" Anne murmured, clearly only seconds away from unconsciousness.

"See you in the morning, princess," he responded, squeezing her hand. She hummed and he felt the last of the tension disappear from her body, collapsing completely into him. A small smile twitched over August's lips and he let the heaviness in his head finally claim him.

. . . . .

August felt like he was clawing his way up out of a mud pit as he slowly struggled back to consciousness. He could hear the hum of the engines and the ground vibrated beneath his body, making the already scattered thoughts in his head toss even harder. Although his arm felt like it weighed a ton, August dragged his hand up and rubbed his face wearily.

"Hey, welcome back." A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and August had tilted his head toward it before his brain supplied that it was Anne. "Just give it a second, it takes a little bit to wear off."

"Where-?" He trailed off, blinking heavily and pressing his fingertips into the corners of his eyes.

"We're about halfway across the Atlantic now I think," she answered his unfinished question. "Eyal said we made it through customs without a problem, and then he hauled us all out of that room. I guess we were out for like six hours. I've only been awake for a few minutes now, I was just going to go back to sleep actually."

"Six hours?" he echoed in surprise. The fog in his brain was slowly lifting and he began to make sense of his surroundings. Instead of the cramped hideaway they'd been stuffed into, he was stretched out on his back in the open expanse of the cargo half of the plane. The sounds of Natasha and the Isreali talking came from the far end of the plane, although he couldn't hear what they were saying over the persistent hum of the plane's engines.

"Yeah, those were some strong sedatives," Anne responded. She had yet to remove her hand from his shoulder and he heard the sound of her shifting around on the floor beside him. "But we've got about nine hours left until we land in the UAE for fuel, so I figured I'd catch up on my sleep."

Even though August was still half-conscious - or perhaps because of it - he couldn't deny that it sounded like a good idea. "That'd be nice," he agreed, tucking an arm beneath his head as a pillow.

"Should I grab a bedroll for you too then?" Anne asked in amusement and August hummed appreciatively. He sat up as he listened to Anne moving around and spreading out the bedding on the floor beside him. "Six inches to your three o'clock," she said when she'd finished.

"Thanks, princess," he said, scooting over until he found the thin layer of padding. A groan escaped him as he stretched out, grateful to be off the hard metal floor. His lips quirked in amusement when he noticed that she hadn't even grumbled about the nickname. "So wait, how'd we get out of the box? Did you carry me out?"

"Eyal pulled us out once we'd gotten away from the airport," she answered from her spot on the floor to his right. "I feel bad for him. When he travels in there, he is usually left in there until he wakes up because they're not an extra person to pull him out. Can you imagine? Six hours sleeping down in that thing? But I guess with three of us, the air supply wouldn't have lasted long enough anyway."

August shuddered. "We've gotten ourselves into a lot of uncomfortable places in the last few days, but that was definitely the worst."

"Even worse than handcuffed and bouncing around in the back of that cargo truck?" she asked playfully.

"Definitely," he agreed without hesitation. "Handcuffs I can handle. Being cramped in like that though, it's too much like when I was a kid and..." He trailed off.

It wasn't just the resurrection of the memory that had him startled, but the fact that he had nearly shared that story with her. He never talked to anyone about his life in the fighting rings, and those years of his life that he had fought to forget. Not even his father, although Arthur Anderson had tried his hardest. The memories had always hurt too badly, and taken him back to that place where he didn't like to be. Most of all, he hadn't wanted his new family to see the dark creature that nestled in the back of his mind; that was so deeply ingrained in those memories that he couldn't release one without the other.

And yet this wasn't the first time he had told Anne things that he had never told anyone else. Ever since they had met, he had felt able to talk to her and over the past few days he had let slip of several small details about himself that he hadn't meant to surrender. What was it about that woman that did it to him? That broke down those walls around the hidden parts of his life? That made those darkest hours seem less painful, at least for a minute?

Anne seemed to have sensed the shift in his demeanour because she abruptly cleared her throat. He could hear the rustle of fabric as she rolled onto her side facing him. "Auggie? Can I ask you a question?"

August hesitated. Would she ask about his past? Could he tell her those stories? Did he really want her to know about that piece of him, and the mark it had left? That animal instinct that still sometimes urged him to fight; to win; to kill? "Sure," he said with a thin attempt at a confident calm.

"I've just been thinking about it and I can't make any sense of it," she said, almost apologetically. "How did you shoot those men that ambushed us the other night?"

A strangled sigh of relief left him. Not his past. That could be put off for another time. "Oh, that."

"I mean, I know you used the dagger to do it," she rushed on, "but you hit guys forty yards away and it wasn't just random cowboy shooting. You hit them straight on, like you knew where they were. I know you're not a normal blind guy, but still. You didn't even have those bracers on, so how did you do it?"

"You don't believe it was just my incredible skills?" he deflected, stalling for time as he tried to think of a way to explain it.

"Not really," she said simply and he smiled. "I know you're talented but..."

"Yeah I guess I wouldn't believe it either," he said, pillowing his head on his arm. He rubbed his lower lip with his free hand distractedly. "Honestly most of it was still luck. And I feel weird for saying it, considering all of what's happening, but this is going to sound crazy."

Anne shuffled closer. "What is it?"

August rolled onto his side to face her and propped himself up on his elbow. "When I use the dagger, I can see." He paused, savouring the feel of the words on his tongue. He could see. It had only happened three times, and each time only lasted a matter of seconds, but for those brief gaps in time he had gotten his sight back.

"You - what?"

"I don't know how it happens, but it does," he said, shrugging awkwardly. "When I use the dagger, I can see again. It's not normal sight, I mean it's all just in sort of shades of yellow, but still, it's something." He dragged a hand through his hair, wincing as the tangled curls snagged on his fingers. It was definitely time for a cut, this was long even for him.

"So that night with the ambush..?" she prompted.

"The first time around, we all would have died," he admitted. "I only survived by accident, I just happened to move at the right time. Which was actually because of you, so thanks for that." He grinned and she laughed softly. "I knew we only had the one chance, so I stole the dagger off the Israeli's body and the sand off you, and I used it. When time was going back, I watched the bullets go back and memorised where they came from. So when I was back, I knocked down the Israeli again, nicked a gun off him, and fired off as close to those places as I could get. The rest of it was dumb luck."

"Auggie, this is unreal," Anne said in awe. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"To be fair, I'm still trying to process it myself," he pointed out. "I lost my sight when I was about nine. I couldn't even remember what the colour yellow looked like until a few days ago. Also, no offence, but we haven't exactly had a really friendly, sharing relationship that whole time. I mean, the first time - well, two times - I used that dagger, you were trying to kill me. And almost succeeded the one time."

"I did?" she asked in surprise and then cleared her throat. "I guess you're right. Sorry about that, by the way. Trying to kill you, I mean."

August laughed and shrugged a shoulder. "No problem. If we're pointing fingers, I _was_ going to leave you tied up in that SUV for the CIA to find you, so I'd call it self-defence. Although the knife in the chest might have been a mild over-reaction." He paused and rubbed the spot where she'd slit him open thoughtfully. Time might have reversed the injury, but he could still clearly remember the feel of the blade splitting his skin and the heated rush of blood pouring out, just as clearly as he remembered the burn of the bullet in his sternum from the ambush. He had almost died twice now. He had been pulled back from certain death by that stupid magic dagger that had started it all. If he was honest with himself, he wouldn't be sorry to be rid of it.

"So wait," Anne said abruptly, her tone thoughtful, "if you saw everything that happened then, does that mean you've seen _me_?"

"Not exactly," he said. "It was more like a silhouette of you, really. All hazy and golden. It went by so fast and my head was so overwhelmed that I didn't really get a very good look, even the second time." He contemplated for a second before adding, "I was going to make sure I did the next time, but then there wasn't any more sand so I didn't get the chance."

"Really?" she asked and that lilt in her voice - was she flirting with him? "Don't you trust your brother's opinion of me?"

August snorted. "I don't trust Jai's opinion of anything," he replied. "He has terrible taste. He actually liked the newest Indiana Jones." He shuddered and Anne laughed appreciatively. "Besides, I don't need to see you to know that you're beautiful. I just wanted to see for myself. If I was getting a chance to see again, there are much worse things to see than a pretty girl. I could handle having that memory."

"And there you go being so charming again," she teased, laughing. She sighed and laid her head down on her arm. "Can I ask a more personal question?"

"Go ahead," he said, setting his chin in his palm. "It's not like there's much you don't already know about me."

She hummed in agreement and then fell silent for a minute. August hesitated, wondering what exactly was going through her mind. Was she going to ask those questions, the ones he was afraid to answer? Finally she cleared her throat and started awkwardly,"If you could see one more thing - I mean if you had the choice - one thing in the whole world, I mean-?"

"The ocean," he answered immediately, cutting across her stammering. It was something he had given a lot of thought in his life, and especially in the last few days.

"The ocean?" she echoed, clearly surprised. "What about your family? Or Natasha? Or your future children?"

"I'm not very concerned with what people look like, honestly," he explained. "I already have my own way of seeing people, and I form these internal images of people that I know. In my head, people aren't so much images as auras and feelings. Emotions and personalities in this big blur that makes up who they are for me. It's hard to explain. But knowing what a person looks like doesn't really change anything in how I see them. The ocean though... Being blind is constricting. I always feel just a little stifled and trapped in this - it's not so much darkness as this enormous dark presence wrapped around me. The ocean is huge and expansive and always moving. It goes on for as far as a person can see, and it's powerful and alive. If I had the chance to really see just one more thing, I'd want to get to see that."

"Wow," Anne whispered and he heard her lift herself back up onto her elbow so she was facing him more fully. "I've never really thought about it like that. I mean I've seen the oceans hundreds of times and I've always thought it was pretty, but that - I sort of feel like I've been taking it for granted all this time now."

August chuckled softly and shrugged. "I have that effect on people," he said off-handedly, trying to hide his embarrassment at having revealed such an intimate detail of himself. He laid out on his back and folded his arms under his head in a feigned sign of nonchalance. "I'm not quite as shallow as you think I am, princess."

"Maybe not," she said and he could hear the smile in her voice. "But if people's appearances don't matter to you, why did you want to see me?"

He paused, wrestling with that exact same question in his mind. Why had he been so consumed by the chance of seeing her face? He had never concerned himself with a person's appearance before, at least not beyond the most basic features. He had already seen that she was lean and trim and well-built, and that brilliantly gold wreath of hair would not soon leave his mind. So why had he been so determined to use that new gift of sight on her?

"Because you're different than any other person I've met," he finally admitted. "Everyone else I can make sense of. You're different and complicated, and that makes me curious. Since I couldn't pin down an image of you my way, I guess I just wanted some image to associate with you." He bit down on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully and then laughed. "That sounded crazy, didn't it?"

"A little," she agreed and then laughed as well. "But you're crazy so I was expecting it."

August grinned, grateful for her easy way at breaking the awkwardness. "Touché, Annie dearest." He stretched his arms above his head, arching his stiff back and groaning. "You know what I want to see right now though?"

"The backs of your eyelids?" she asked and he smirked.

"You know me too well," he answered cheekily.

"I don't suppose that offer of a pillow is still on the table," she said curiously.

August laughed. "I'm using this arm," he said, wiggling the one beneath his head, "but you're welcome to the other if you like." Anne didn't answer, but she scooted her bedroll over next to his and laid her head on his bicep. "G'night, princess."

She turned onto her side, settling her forehead into the curve of his shoulder, and he felt her smile against his skin. "Night, Auggie."


	21. Chapter Nineteen, Escalation

AN: Super short and long overdue, but here it is!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen<strong>

Anne Walker tilted her head back and breathed deeply of the thick, humid air. The bustle of the Colombo marketplace ebbed and flowed around her in frenetic patterns, kicking up little puffs of sand that clung to her bare calves. She had never been more grateful to be home.

Next to her, August grumbled and shifted his weight. They hovered near a stand, pretending to examine the wares while they waited. August tugged at the collar of his black tee-shirt, which was already stained with sweat, and then pushed his curled fringe back off his forehead. She couldn't help but swallow back a laugh at his miserable expression.

"Something funny?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

"It's just nice to be home," she answered idly, lacing her arm through his and leaning against his shoulder.

"Would've been nicer if home wasn't so close to the equator." August shook his head and flexed his free hand, which she'd discovered in the last few days was a nervous tick. "What's taking her so long?"

"Relax, it's only been fifteen minutes since she left," Anne said. "She's arranging a ride for us, not buying a drink." After landing in Colombo, they had taken the two hour drive to Neluwa, just south of the Siharaja Forest Reserves where the hidden temple city resided. Once there, Natasha had slipped away to find transportation for them, claiming to have contacts in the city. Anne wasn't particularly surprised; as far as she could tell, the Russian had connections everywhere.

"I wouldn't mind a drink right now either," August responded. "Is he still tailing us?"

"He's watching us from the café across the street," she said, glancing across to where Eyal was sitting at a rickety table. "So tell me, when did I become the calm one and you're the panicky newbie?"

August smirked and elbowed her in the side. She hated to admit just how much she liked that damn smile of his. "I just want to get moving. I don't like lingering in the city like this, too many people and too great a chance of someone spotting us in the crowd. We don't exactly blend in with the locals." He leaned forward and pretended to scour the table of handmade jewellery in front of them. He really was a rather convincing actor; it made her feel less ashamed of the fact that she hadn't realised he was blind until after more than a day of knowing him. "This one's lovely, don't you think?" he asked as a cover, gesturing vaguely.

Reaching out, she traced her fingertips over a necklace made of pale shells and felt something in her heart clench. She rolled her wrist where her bracelet used to hang and frowned. She turned her head away and out of the corner of her eye she caught a faint motion. Glancing over, she locked eyes with Eyal, who gave a short nod and then stood.

"Eyal just gave the signal," Anne announced softly and she felt him stiffen with anticipation against her side.

"Thirty seconds, then we follow him," August reminded her under his breath, and she squeezed his forearm to show that she understood. As he ran his fingers over a silken scarf, she could tell that he was tense and listening. She counted in her head, and when she reached the thirty second mark, she tugged lightly on his arm.

"Honey, come, look at this," she said with false enthusiasm and steered him through the crowded street. "I've missed this," she admitted as they walked, the thrum beneath her voice betraying the casual tone. "The markets and people and bustle. You don't get this sort of feel in America. There everyone is always just rushing on to the next thing, but here everything feels so organic and alive."

"And humid," August added cheekily.

Anne snorted and shook her head. "You can complain about anything, can't you?"

"You're not the one wearing a black shirt and jeans," he pointed out. "Please tell me we're headed somewhere in the shade."

"It'll cool down once we get into the jungle, so quit being such a baby," she said, laughing. August shot her a petulant look that only made her laugh harder. They travelled the rest of the way in silence, Anne focusing on keeping track of Eyal's darting figure weaving ahead of them.

Finally they rounded a wide bend into an open area, half-hidden behind a large warehouse of some sort. Natasha and Eyal were waiting with a wiry Sri Lankan man, and beside them were a pair of large four-wheel ATVs.

"We're ready to leave," Natasha announced without pre-empting. "I've arranged our transport."

"ATVs?" Anne asked in amusement. She had expected something much more subtle and primitive, donkeys perhaps, but these would definitely get them there more quickly.

"Brilliant," August said eagerly, his face lighting up. "I've always wanted to drive one of these."

Anne laughed while the others looked at him, stunned. "Nice try, Daredevil, but I want to make it there in one piece," she rebutted. "I'm driving."

"You know the way from here?" Natasha asked and Anne nodded. "Good. Let's move then, before anyone realises we're here."

Anne took August's hand and led him to the ATVs, setting his hand on a back fender. She swung a leg over the seat and made herself comfortable, and then looked back at August, who hadn't moved. "Well hop on, cowboy," she teased.

"Yee-haw," he said dryly. She watched as he traced the edge of the machine until he found the seat, and then awkwardly climbed on. Once he was straddling the seat, he slid forward and settled in behind her. "Okay, I'm ready when you are, princess."

Smirking, Anne revved the engine and the ATV shot forward. Behind her August yelped in alarm and hastily threw his arms around her waist to stop himself from falling off. "That wasn't very nice," he shouted over the rush of the wind as they sped away from the noise of the city.

"No, but it was funny," she responded, laughing. August grumbled something in reply but whatever it was she couldn't hear it.

The outer edges of the city gave way to wilderness, and Anne watched the jungle swell up and surround them. This was her land, the places she knew the best. For the first time in almost a week, she felt like she had the upper hand. Or was on even ground, at the least.

They drove through the winding jungle roads for several hours, criss-crossing broadly across the jagged mountains. She followed the trailhead names that she'd had to memorise on joining the monastery, working their way around toward the caves hidden in between the mountains. The skies were full of colourful birds, and rivers and streams cut through the patchworks of brilliant green. August's arms were wrapped securely around her and his warm body against her back was a comforting presence against the chilly jungle air.

It must have been close to noon when they finally reached the familiar collection of trails that she knew signalled their turn-off point. Slowing down, she pulled up to a stop and waited for Natasha and Eyal on the other ATV to catch up to them. "This is where we have to head off the road," she said when they'd stopped. "There's a ravine a couple miles straight east from here, and the temples are in the caves in there. We're going to have to go a lot slower though, 'cause it's narrow and easy to get lost. I've only ever been here once and we went on horseback so I don't know how well these will fit."

"We'll stay slow and close behind you," Natasha said, loosening her grip on Eyal's waist to lean closer so she could be heard.

Anne nodded and then glanced over her shoulder at August. "You doing all right back there?" she asked.

"I'm good," he answered, turning his head toward her voice. Anne couldn't fight down a bubble of laughter when she saw that the wind had blown his fringe until it was nearly standing up on end. "You sure you don't want to let me drive for a while?"

"I'm completely positive," she said. She patted his hand on her hip once before accelerating the ATV again and steering them onto the narrow track between the trees, nearly concealed by the tangle of foliage. It had been several years since she had last made the trip to the hidden temple and the plantlife had grown up over the path so they had to travel slowly as Anne picked out the faint traces of their roadway.

"I have to admit," August called over her shoulder, "this place does smell lovely. All that fresh water and plants and such."

"It's beautiful here," she replied. "I wish you could see it."

"I'll make due with what I've got," he said simply and inhaled deeply. Since they had slowed down slightly, he had loosened his grip on her waist and his hands were a warm, comfortable weight on her thighs. She sincerely hoped his bat ears couldn't hear the catch in her heart rate that caused. Anne shook her head and forced herself to focus entirely on the path ahead of them. They couldn't afford to get lost, not now that they'd diverted from the marked trails.

The mountains swept up from the ground ahead of them and it didn't take long for the sun to disappear behind the ancient, ragged peaks. The ATVs whined as the road began to swing up and down in great arcs, following the natural progression of the land. Anne felt her body tensing with each mile that passed, knowing that they were getting closer. Nearly there. The whole thing was nearly over. They were nearly safe.

A final curve of the trail brought them into a wide, open ravine in the cleft between twin peaks. The side of the cliffs were dotted with caves and small dwellings built directly into the stone walls. Livestock shuffled in their pens and smoke drifted lazily from the chimney of a few of the homes. Anne's heart leapt into her throat as she gazed upon the village, centred around one particularly wide cave, and she let off the accelerator. "We're here!"

. . . . .

Henry Anderson sneered as he ended the phone call and leaned back against the seat in his towncar. Conrad had called him from Sri Lanka to inform him that they had unearthed a series of tunnels beneath the monastery that appeared to have been collapsed by explosives. The foolish boy thought that they had finally found the concrete evidence of the weapon factories that he had promised their father he would find. Henry knew that he was on to so much more. Those tunnels would lead him to the sandglass, and Mercer was already in place to recover the dagger for him. Everything was coming together.

Before he had even ended the call, Henry was on his way to the airport. He was going to be there when they broke through to the tunnels. After all this time, victory was within his reach.

The car was just pulling into the CIA airfield - he wouldn't be wasting any time dealing with civilian airplanes at a time like this - when his mobile rang again. He glanced at it long enough to see Jai's number fill the screen before answering. "Anderson."

"We'll have him by the end of the day," Jai said with smug pride. "That tip was right, turns out August landed in Colombo early this morning. We've had him IDed here, and followed his trail to a small city outside the jungle reserve. The guy who sold him transport offered us the tracking GPS. We're just getting ready to head in after him now."

"This is good news," Henry said, his lips curling. Mercer and his men had already been on his trail, and they would most likely apprehend August before Jai even got close, but it was encouraging either way. This way, on the off chance that Mercer's men failed again the way they had in Oklahoma, there was a second plan in place. No matter which one of them did it, August and the stolen dagger would be delivered to Henry when he reached Sri Lanka. "I am flying in to join Conrad, he has made a discovery at the monsatery. You can meet us there when you've finished. And remember, Jai," he added, "take that traitor down by any means necessary."

"Yes, sir," Jai agreed and there was nothing but conviction in his tone. Henry smirked; the middle Anderson wouldn't hesitate to kill August if it came to it. All the better for Henry. The last thing he needed was that bastard spreading his stories and causing more trouble than he already had. He tucked his phone back into his jacket and then climbed out of the towncar.

"We're ready to go when you are, Mr. Anderson," the attendant said and saluted him.

"Let's go then," Henry said and passed the man to mount the steps into the plane. "It's far passed time for this whole thing to be finished."


	22. Chapter Twenty, The Sacred Temple

**Chapter Twenty**

As they rode into the village, an ominous prickle ran down the length of August's spine. He sat up straighter behind Anne, frowning suspiciously. The ATVs pulled up close to one of the animal pens and Anne killed the engine before climbing off. "Not a lot of security for a secret temple," he noted as he slid down after her. Apart from the shuffling and braying of animals, he couldn't hear anyone else. No voices, no running footsteps, not even a cough.

"They're all just indoors," Anne said but he could hear the the uncertainty in her voice. She set off quickly, almost jogging in her anticipation.

A sudden wave of intuition swept through August and he felt his every nerve light up like a wire. "Annie, wait," he said, hurrying after her. He stumbled on the uneven ground and it took him several metres to catch up to her. The oppressive scent reached his nostrils just as he grabbed her shoulder to stop her, but it was too late. A horrified gasp slipped out of her.

"No," she breathed. She shook off his hand and stepped into the small hut they had approached, and as August followed her the smell of blood was so thick he nearly gagged. "No, this isn't possible. They're dead." He heard her crouch, and the rustle of fabric and bodies. "Auggie, they're dead. They're all dead."

"Annie, I'm so sorry," he said, reaching out for her. She stood and curled herself into his embrace, burying her face in his tee-shirt As she shook against him, August tried not to breathe through his nose. The smell... There was so much blood. These people hadn't just been killed, they'd been massacred.

"How did this happen?" she demanded into his chest. "This place is supposed to be a secret. Sacred."

"I don't know," August said honestly, gripping her shoulder to soothe her hysterics. "But Annie, we've got to move. The people who did this might still be around. We're not safe here."

"We've got to take care of the dagger," Annie said. Her voice filled with resolve and he felt her straighten and tense again, the renewed purpose giving her strength. "Come on." She took his hand and tugged him toward the door. They had hardly stepped out of the doorframe before August caught the fast approaching sound: Engines.

"Natasha, Eyal, run!" August shouted and pointed in the direction of the sound. Anne cursed and her grip tightened on his hand, and as they took off running in the opposite direction he could hear the pounding steps of the other two racing after them. The high growl of the engines were louder as they ran through the centre of the little village collective, echoing back at them off of the flat stone walls and away up into the ravine.

"Give it up, August!" Even amplified over the bullhorn, August couldn't mistake his brother's voice. A gunshot went off and a shower of stone chips flew against the side of his face. Cursing furiously, he slowed to a stop. Anne skidded around in front of him and he could feel her resignation.

"What are you doing?" Eyal yelled as he caught up to them.

In response, August lifted his hands - one of them still clutching Annie's - over his head. "They'll kill us before we get a word in," he said.

"And they won't kill us anyway?" Natasha said sarcastically, but neither of them were moving any further.

The engines whined as the vehicles slammed on their brakes and formed a semi-circle around them. Guns clicked and heavy bodies shuffled about. Anne clutched at his hand, panting beside him, and he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Jai, please, just listen to me," August started before he felt a calloused hand close around his throat.

"Why would I listen to you, traitor?" Jai hissed venomously. "I'd kill you right now if Conrad didn't want you to come back alive." His grip tightened and August gasped, letting go of Anne to pry weakly at his brother's hand.

"Please," August breathed.

"Let him go," Anne snarled and shoved Jai. Immediately several of the guns were cocked loudly. "He's telling the truth." Jai released one hand to push Anne away, and it was enough for August to wriggle out of his grip. Rubbing his neck with one hand, August ushered Anne protectively against his side as he squared off with his panting brother.

"Please, Jai, you know me," August said hoarsely. "I was framed. You and I may not have ever gotten on the best, but you know I would never hurt Dad."

"You poisoned him," Jai said, and beneath the rage August could hear the ache. "I _saw_ you. And then you ran."

"Because you were shooting at me," August said defensively. "I didn't do it, Jai. It was all set up from the beginning. By Uncle Henry." Jai snorted derisively. "Why do you think he's kept this covert, instead of bringing in the feds and the police? He doesn't want me caught, he wants me silenced." August felt the change in the air, the extra quiet and attentiveness that surrounded his suddenly still brother. "And you know it, don't you? He's told you as much."

The quiet stretched on for several long seconds and August thought that maybe Jai wouldn't answer at all, and then he cleared his throat softly. "After Dad's funeral, he tried to convince Con to have you killed. He said he didn't want you to be able to spread your lies."

"It's because I know things he doesn't want people to hear," August said earnestly. "He can't risk anyone looking into it. But everything has been set up by him, ever since he showed up and changed our plans in that hotel. The monastery, the poisoned tequila, the undercover manhunt. It's all been him, Jai."

Jai shifted on his feet for a minute, and then he took half a step forward. "You have five minutes," he said. "Convince me."

August couldn't stop the relieved smile that spread across his face and the tension drained from his shoulders. Finally. He had never been more grateful to his stubborn older brother in his life. "Right, well it's all about this dagger," he started and turned to get the knife from Eyal. Just as he stepped to the side, he heard a whistle shoot passed him and then the wet thunk of impact. Jai let out a grunt of surprise.

"Jai?" August asked in alarm, at the same time that Anne seized his arm and pulled him to the ground, yelling, "Down!"

Gunfire erupted in the ravine as Jai's men started firing blindly at whoever had taken the first shot, and seconds later there was return fire from above. August crawled to Jai's crumpled body, and as he felt him over he found the small hole in the left side of his chest. "Jai, no," he said, frantically applying pressure to the wound. He'd already lost his father, and Stuart, and his uncle had turned on him. He couldn't lose a brother, not now.

"Run, Augs," Jai growled, voice thick with his own blood. "Get to Con and fix this."

August hesitated, trying to find something meaningful, but for the first time in his life words had failed him. A bullet embedded itself in the ground near his head, spraying them both with dirt. He found his brother's hand and squeezed it, grabbed the gun from his belt, and then August stood and ran.

. . . . .

Anne didn't understand how it had all gone to hell so fast. It seemed like every hope they had had for an end had been knocked out from beneath them in quick succession, and she was constantly scrambling for just one more possibility.

She had been so relieved to see the temple village ahead of them. It was every bit the safe haven she remembered, and for a moment she had really believed they had done it. That they would be able to leave the dagger in the protection of the people there, and they would keep it safe until everything had calmed once more. That she and August would be able to escape into hiding together, free of it all. She almost hated herself for just how desperately she had wanted it to be possible.

But it wasn't, because their sanctuary had been destroyed. Every person who had once lived in the temple village, who had devoted their entire lives to the cause they served, had been cruelly and efficient murdered. Men, women, children. All of them had been shot, and then their throats had been unnecessarily slit. It was a sign, a message. That this place was no longer safe.

There had only been one other option after that. The dagger had to be returned to the stone it had come from, and she had to be the one to do it. Her chance at running had been taken away from her.

Except then even that was looking dim when August's brother and his CIA back-up had arrived to arrest them. And just when she had thought that they might have a chance, that August might have been able to convince his brother to trust them, a bullet had come from nowhere and seized that away as well.

Clearly whoever had wiped out the village had come back for the dagger and they weren't afraid of taking down everyone who stood in their way. So as soon as Annie had realised what was happening, she had found Eyal in the chaos. He had picked up the gun of a fallen CIA agent and was on one knee, training his sights on the cliffside. "Give me the dagger," she demanded, crouching beside him. "I have to end this."

Eyal narrowed his eyes and then jerked his head in a semblance of a nod. "Left thigh pouch," he said, focusing on the cliff again. A second later he let off a shot that made Anne's ears ring. She pulled up the Velcro flap on his cargo pants pocket and pulled the dagger, wrapped in a cloth, from inside. With a grateful nod, she stood up and headed for the caves.

"Annie!"

August's panicked voice made her pause and she turned around, afraid that he might have been hurt. "Auggie?" she called. She saw him standing uncertainly in the middle of the gunfight, cowering beneath the shots. He turned to the sound of her voice and started running at a crouch, weaving through people awkwardly. Anne jogged forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him after her as they narrowly avoided a bullet that embedded itself in the ground between their feet.

"We've got to get the dagger to safety," she said, wending around a paddock of panicking chickens.

"How do we do that?" August asked, clinging to her forearm and staggering behind her with his other arm over his head defensively. "All of your people are dead."

"The stone," Anne said as they entered the cave. "The stone the dagger came from. I need to fulfil the original deal by putting it back." Their voices echoed against the walls and back to them, mixed in with the discordant noises of gunfire and shouts from outside. Annie didn't pause to admire the enormous, naturally occurring chamber in the rocks and instead headed directly for the wide, circular stone that stood in pride of place in the centre of the room, a long crevice visible in its surface.

"The original deal?" August asked, frowning.

"The girl's life that was offered in exchange for the saving the world," she explained.

"Wait." August came to a stop and pulled back on her arm, tugging her around to face him. "But then doesn't that mean...?"

Anne bit her lip and looked down at their joined hands, because she couldn't stand the look of worry and fear in those soulful brown eyes. "One life for the rest of the world," she said. "I've accepted what I need to do. I'm ready for this." If she had to meet his eyes any longer, she would lose her resolve. She turned and tried to pull away but August tightened his grip and drew her back to him.

With frightening accuracy, he locked his gaze on hers and placed a hand on the side of her face. "But what if I'm not?" he asked. Anne felt her knees soften under the combination of his intense stare and the insinuation of his words.

"Auggie," she tried but he ran his thumb across her lips, sending a thrill through her body and effectively cutting off her train of thought.

"I didn't come all this way just to lose you now, Annie." His lips curved up at the corner just slightly when he finished, "You haven't annoyed me damn near enough for that yet."

Anne nuzzled her cheek into his warm palm even as she felt a sickening weight in her stomach. "There's no other choice," she reasoned. "We can't let those people get their hands on the dagger."

She watched something harden resolutely in his jaw. "Let me do it."

"No," she protested instinctively.

"Listen to me, Annie," he said firmly. The hand on her cheek turned her so they were facing each other head-on, over-whelming her in the sincerity of his gaze. "I don't have a shot in hell after this is all finished, not on my own. I may do pretty well for myself, but - and my pride hates to admit this - I wouldn't have lasted a day without you to lead me. It's just a fact of life for a blind guy. Soon as that dagger is gone, it's all over for me anyway. But you, you've got a chance. You can take care of yourself just fine, and you've got a shot at being able to start all over again somewhere else."

"This is _my_ responsibility," she insisted, but the determination in him wasn't flickering. "I am the one who took the oath, I made a vow to protect this dagger, no matter the cost. I've got to be the one to do this."

"And I've made it my job to protect _you_," August replied. She hadn't noticed it, but they'd been taking small steps closer as they argued, trying to intimidate the other. Now they stood toe-to-toe, arms' length from the stone that would end it all, both of them flushed in the face and breathing heavily. A sudden electric current passed between them and something new lit in his eyes.

She wasn't sure which of them was the first to move, but suddenly their lips were crushed together. August had one hand on her waist, tugging her body flush to his, and the other moved up to cradle the back of her head. Anne's head was swimming as their mouths fought for dominance and for a moment they were all that existed in the world. All of the tension and friction that had been boiling between them for days had erupted into a full fire and she was swept up in it, clutching his shoulder with her free hand to keep herself from melting into the ground.

Except she couldn't let herself be distracted like this. She had a mission; a responsibility. She opened her eyes and saw that they were still only inches from the stone. If she broke away from this, he would stop her again, but so long as he was distracted... And besides, of all the ways to go, this was a damn good one.

By stretching out the hand that still held the dagger, she saw that she was just the slightest bit too far away. She stood onto her toes and leaned all of her weight against August, and he took a shuffling half-step back to compensate. Just a bit further... He pressed harder against the small of her back, moulding her closer into his body, and she groaned and shuddered at the heat coming off of him. She just had to focus. Only another few centimetres.

"Auggie," she moaned against his lips. The tip of the dagger was just touching the stone, and if this was her last chance to say it... "Auggie, I-"

A heavy clunk was followed by a sudden, explosive white light. Anne cried out as she was blinded, the brightness burning even through her eyelids. Before either of them could make another noise, a concussive wave of sound erupted in the cavern. Both of them were knocked off their feet and Anne didn't even have time to scream before her head connected with the ground and everything disappeared into darkness.


	23. Chapter Twenty-One, Ebb and Flow

AN: Sorry this took so long, I feel guilty when I leave you guys on cliffhangers like that, but I got a mad case of writer's block.

Special thanks to my beta, EmeraldEyedPhoenix, who takes the time to fix all of my little typos and my screwy grammar. :)

Without further ado...

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-One<strong>

If Benjamin Mercer had said in that moment that he wasn't jealous of the curly-haired CIA agent, he would've been lying. He had always prided himself on his ability to stay calm and maintain his professionalism, but when he slipped into the cavern to find Annie Walker kissing his target, he wanted nothing more than to snap that man's neck with his own hands.

It had been a long road that had led him to standing in the entrance to that cave for the third time in his life, gun in hand and rage burning in his chest. All of his life, he had been good at getting what he wanted, whether it was by natural causes or by making sure it happened. A life of espionage was a perfect fit for him, really. He had made his way as a freelance mercenary for the first few years of his adulthood, taking the jobs that suited him and reaping the rewards of a life of travel and adventure. During his downtime between jobs, he indulged his private fascination with geographic anomalies, exploring every place that was rumoured to be riddled with magic and secrets.

It was during this time that he became acquainted with the Black Hand - a group of patriot mercenaries who worked covertly for the American government - and their leader, a CIA bureaucrat named Henry Anderson. He worked a few smaller jobs in tandem with them, and after a few months he had become a personal consultant for Anderson, occasionally being given command of the actual team. It gave him the freedom to still take and choose jobs as he wanted, but with resources beyond anything he had ever possessed on his own.

Then two years previously he had taken some time away from the Black Hand to explore the Sri Lankan jungle. For years he had been hearing whispers and stories about a secret society in a monastery, and he wanted to investigate the rumours. It had taken months of observations for him to discover that the stories were true and, even more than that, the basis of the secret society was also real: they possessed _real_ magic.

Once he had realised this, he worked his way into their organisation, which took several more months of careful work to get them to trust him and integrate him into their world. He left behind all of his connections in the outer world and devoted himself to studying the lore and protecting the Dagger of Time. And later in that year is when everything truly began to change, because he met _her_.

During one of his customary expeditions into the surrounding jungle - which he took frequently because his restless nature couldn't handle being trapped inside of the monastery for days on end - he had gone for a swim and surfaced only to find that he was being watched. A beautiful young blonde woman was standing back from the edge of the water, a small, battered camera hung loosely around her neck, and she was watching him with passive curiosity. He was instantly hooked on Anne Catherine Walker.

The weeks that followed were full of adventure and passion. Although she told him often that she never stayed in one place for very long, wandering wherever her feet carried her, one week gradually turned into one month, and then a second came after it. She was interested in his world and he wanted to share the wonders that he found in the monastery with her, so she was brought into the fold and something about her made the guardians instantly accept her. Something about the current of time running through her, although Ben never fully understood what that meant. And suddenly she was the High Priestess of the Sands of Time, and he her protector.

The problem became that he was stagnant. The man who never held still and was always seeking new and grander adventures had become stuck in one place, and he wanted to move on. The discovery of the dagger had shown him that there was magic in the world, and he was determined to find more. In fact, the only reason that he had not left already was the blonde woman who held a fistful of his heartstrings. The more restless he became, the more comfortably she seemed to settle into her new role. He couldn't convince her to leave with him, so he did the only other thing he could to save himself.

He ran.

In the dead of the night, with nothing more than a brief, handwritten apology placed on the pillow, he ran away and never looked back. He returned to his work and his travels and reintegrated himself into the world he had abandoned over a year prior. Except nothing eased the edge that had taken hold of him. He tried for a while to deny it, but the inescapable truth was that he missed her. She was the wind that kept his fires blazing, and he needed her. He had to find a way to get her out of that monastery and if he had to see the first place of real magic he had found torn to pieces to achieve it, he would. So he contacted the man he knew would see the place levelled: Henry Anderson.

He had meant only to have the monastery taken away, and then he would find her as she continued her travels. Like a heaven-send, he would reappear in her world and they would race the world together. The factor he had not counted on was this August Anderson. He never would have believed that a cripple could actually pose such a threat, despite the stories that had drifted down from the CIA of the extraordinary agent.

His plans to fulfil Henry's orders had been carefully orchestrated. He didn't want Annie to know that he was involved in any way with the destruction of the place she had become so earnest in protecting. So the first assault in Oklahoma had been carried out purely by other agents of the Black Hand, which he had assumed would be sufficient. It had been a shock when none of the men had survived to return. This meant that the task of bringing in August Anderson had fallen to him and his remaining men.

Anticipating where they would go next wasn't difficult. After all, he was the one who had trained Anne in what to do in the case of a threat against the order. He had sent an anonymous tip to Anderson's other nephew, Jai Anderson, who was heading the manhunt for his adoptive brother, and then he and his men had taken care of the villagers - more aggressively than necessary, because they were all furious over how their men had failed them - before settling in to wait. The CIA had been brought in on the vague hope that he would still be able to keep his hands clean in front of Anne, but he wasn't holding out much faith. He'd never met a more easily manipulated man than Jai Anderson, and August was a skilled manipulator.

As soon as he saw that the older Anderson was beginning to be swayed, he had sighted August in his scope and fired off the shot. To his annoyance, August had turned out of the way at the last possible second, leaving the bullet to strike the older Anderson. Although he was frustrated that he had missed his shot, he couldn't pretend that he was sad when he saw Jai Anderson crumple. When he saw Anne slipping away toward the entrance to the cave, he had left his men to handle the remaining CIA agents and wound his way down the cliff-face in pursuit. He had still been formulating plans for how to get rid of Anderson and get away without Anne knowing he'd played a part when he peered around the corner to the sight that had set his blood boiling.

That bastard had made his life more difficult at every turn, making a simple job into a maddening wild goose chase and foiling his every attempt to bring Anne back into his life where she belonged. And now he had the audacity to _kiss_ her, to try and steal her heart away from him. Ben's hand moved immediately for his gun, prepared to put a bullet in Anderson's head, consequences be damned. He had just drawn it from the holster when he spotted something else. Anne was seconds away from putting the dagger into the stone. Knowing exactly what would happen if she succeeded, Ben did the next best thing he could think of: he grabbed one of his flash-bang IEDs and tossed it into the centre of the cavern.

Pivoting and shielding himself against the wall, Ben managed to cover his ears and slam his eyes shut just in time to protect himself from the blast. It took several seconds for the last of the concussive waves to shudder by, and when he stood up his ears were ringing slightly despite the protection. He leaned around the corner into the cavern and grinned when he spotted the two collapsed figures. Excellent.

Stalking across the cave, he stopped and picked up the dagger where it had fallen by the centre stone. Henry Anderson would be glad to see it, although at this point Ben could care less what happened to the stupid thing. His only concern was sprawled across the rocks a few feet away. Ben cut a gash in the lining of his jacket and tucked the dagger in there for safe-keeping, and then knelt beside Annie.

It had been nearly a full year since the last time he had seen her in person, but she still looked almost exactly the way he remembered her, if not a little tired and travel-worn. Her denim shorts and silken blouse both seemed to be on their last threads and her hair, longer than it had been before, was tangled and a bit dirty. He reached out and fondly ran his fingers along the side of her face before checking the back of her head. No blood, so apart from a painful lump, she would be fine.

Now August Anderson on the other hand...

Ben stood and turned to the prostrate spook. He rolled August onto his back with the toe of his boot, none too gently, and towered over him. He would've preferred to do this while the man was aware to experience it, but he would take what he could get. Lifting his gun, he sighted down the barrel at the other man's forehead. This was it. He would end it and get rid of that bastard once and for all, and come back for Annie later when the dust had settled.

His free hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out the shell bracelet he had given her when he had first realised that he was falling in love with her. The pair of them was supposed to have a magically binding effect, twining their futures together forever. He ran the shells through his fingers gently. He was doing this for her. For his Annie. For their forever. A well of exhilaration formed in the pit of his stomach as he clicked off the safety and drew back the hammer.

A sharp pain struck the base of his neck, momentarily paralysing him. The gun slipped from his hand as he stumbled, and it skittered away across the stone floor while the bullet embedded itself in the distant wall. Ben tripped over August's legs and rolled to soften the blow, and the second he was on his feet again he bolted deeper into the cavern. A shot rang out and he staggered as it burned across the side of his hip. He avoided the next one by darting into a hidden passage through the rocks. He was fuming as he ran along the narrow corridor. He had been _so close_. With one last check that the dagger was still stowed away inside of his jacket, he took a concealed turn that would lead him to the outside again.

Next time. Next time they met, August Anderson would die and Annie would be his.

. . . . .

August awoke slowly, his consciousness dragging itself lethargically up through the thickness inside of his skull, and then all at once his eyes snapped open. The darkness was still pressing down on him from every direction, and there was a faint ringing in his ears. He scrambled awkwardly up to crouch on the balls of his feet, lifting his arms defensively and trying to pinpoint the sound of any dangers through the persistent hum.

"August." A hand landed on his shoulder and August rolled his arm to break the grip, snatching vainly at the potential attacker. "It is me, August," the accented voice shouted over the buzz.

"Natasha?" he asked uncertainly, frowning as he tried to place the voice. He rubbed his ears vigorously but it did nothing to alleviate the noise.

"It's okay, you are safe," she replied and set her hand on his shoulder again to steady him. "You were attacked."

"Annie?" he asked anxiously, twisting his head around like he was expecting to see her amid his dark field of vision.

"She's fine," Natasha answered. "Still unconscious, but she is not injured."

"And the dagger?" he pressed, knowing what she would say even before he asked.

"Gone," she confirmed. "It was one man, not one of the CIA men. He used a flash-bang. I saw it from outside and got to him before he could kill you, but he escaped with the dagger. He left behind this." She set something small in his palm and August fingered it curiously; it appeared to be a small loop of some sort of beads or seashells. Whatever it was, he had no idea what it meant or what purpose it served. Frowning, he tucked it into his pocket.

"And Jai?" he asked hopefully. Maybe he had pulled through. Maybe someone had been able to stave the bleeding. If they could keep pressure on the wound until they could get him to a hospital, just maybe-

In response, Natasha rubbed his forearm soothingly. "I'm so sorry, August," she said, her tone infinitely kinder than it had been since their reunion.

August dropped his head into his hands, lacing his fingers through his hair so tightly his skull ached. The rage and hopelessness swelled inside of him until he was shaking: his job, his country, his best friend, his father, and now his brother. "Damn it!" he screamed furiously and punched the ground, sending a satisfyingly painful shockwave up through his arm.

"August, I-" Natasha trailed off, knowing that there were no words she could offer that would help. He sought for something more to say, anything practical and logical to escape the agonising emotional hurricane that was tearing at his mind, but he was interrupted by a frantic scream.

"Annie," he said immediately, moving in his unsteady crouch toward the sounds of panic and shuffled motion. She was scrambling backwards awkwardly, terrified and seeking some form of protection. One of her arms caught him in the side of the head as she weakly tried to defend herself and he grabbed her wrist before she could draw away. She screamed again as she struggled against him. "Annie, relax!" he bellowed, realising that her hearing would be as clouded as his own.

"Get away from me!" Annie shrieked, kicking out and hitting his knee. "Let me _go_!"

"Annie, calm down!" he bellowed, trying vainly to fend off her attacks. What had gotten into her? She didn't think he'd done this, did she? And then he remembered what Natasha had told him; the person had used a flash-bang grenade. If her eyes had been open when it went off...

August immediately lifted the hand he still held to his cheek, pressing her palm to his skin. As she continued to struggle for freedom, he gently nuzzled her palm, trying to convey to her that he wasn't a threat. He felt Natasha step passed him, but he cut her off with a brisk, "Stop. Don't touch her; you'll only frighten her worse." He couldn't make out the Russian's response, but she obligingly backed off.

It took several seconds longer before Annie stopped fighting him so hard, and the tips of her fingers began to trace his cheekbone and jaw line tentatively. He released her wrist and let her continue on her own, and her fingers ghosted up to his hair and then down over his brow and eyes. "Auggie?" she asked tremulously, speaking in a low, nasal tone that was barely audible over the buzz in his eardrums. He nodded against her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the skin beneath her thumb as reassurance.

The next thing he knew, he had been knocked back onto his behind and his arms were full of trembling limbs as Annie pulled herself as close to him as she could manage. She curled her body in against his chest and he could tell that she was rambling a mile a minute, but he couldn't actually hear any of the individual words.

"Annie," he said loudly, putting his lips to her ear to be sure she heard him. "Calm down, you're okay."

"I can't see," she sobbed against his collarbone. "I can't see anything, it's all _gone_."

"It will pass," he told her, stroking her back comfortingly. "I promise. It'll be back soon." He cradled her against his body as she slowly slipped out of the hysterics, and by the time she had started to calm, the ringing in his ears had settled to a faint humming. "You going to be okay now?" he asked cautiously when she had stopped quivering so much.

"It's coming back, a little," she answered. "Some of the shadows don't look as thick as the others."

"Told you it would come back," he said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

"What happened?" she pushed on, uncoiling slightly and drawing back from him so she was sitting in front of him instead of on top of him. He didn't fail to notice that one of her legs was still overlapping his, and she kept her hands in contact with him. Reaching down, he threaded one of his hands through hers to help ground her, knowing what she was experiencing. "I remember we were k-" she paused and he felt her shifting awkwardly before she changed tact, "We were in the cavern, and then there was this flash of white, and - I don't remember anything after that."

"Someone ambushed us," he explained. "They used a flash-bang. When it explodes it lets out a burst of light and sound to incapacitate people. Both of us hit our heads pretty hard when we fell, judging by this bump on my forehead."

"The dagger?" she asked immediately, tensing up. "Where is it?"

"It's gone. They took it."

"No." Annie let out a weak noise, a cross between a sob and a groan, and he felt her drawing in on herself again. When she spoke again, her voice was muffled as she pressed her forehead into her knees. "I had one job: Protect the dagger. And I couldn't even do that right. I've failed."

"Hey now," August said, frowning. He put an arm across her shoulders, sliding her against his side again, and with his other hand he found her chin, tilting her head until their foreheads touched. "You listen to me. We are going to get that dagger back. We know where they are taking it; Henry wants to use it as soon as possible, and the only way he can do that is to be at the sandglass, so they'll be taking it back to the monastery. So we'll follow them and we'll take it back. We are _not_ giving up now."

"What if we don't make it in time?" Anne asked uncertainly. "They've got a huge head start. And they'll have the place so well defended we won't stand a chance of getting in alive."

"Doesn't matter," August said determinedly. "None of it will mean anything if we don't try, right? So what do you say?" He held out his hand to her, letting his fingertips rest against her knee so she would know where to reach. There was only a second's hesitation before her fingers linked with his. He grinned as he stood and pulled her up with him. "What about you guys?" August asked, turning his head to the last place where he'd heard Natasha. "We could really use the help, especially since we're both flying blind for a little while until Annie gets her sight back."

"We've already held up our end of the bargain," Natasha protested. "The deal was to bring you to Sri Lanka."

"I will help," Eyal spoke up suddenly, startling all of them.

"Eyal, what is this?" Natasha asked. "This is none of our business. We should be done with this and go home. We have our story."

"This is so much bigger than that though," Eyal said, and he crossed to where Natasha stood. His voice lowered and his tone softened as he continued. "I believe them. No one would go to so much effort over that stupid knife if it wasn't as important as they say. Can't you see that?"

"You've gone mad as well," Natasha said.

"If it helps, think of this as well," Eyal said. "Those assassins have seen us both now; they know we were helping them. Do you really think that they will leave us be if we don't do something?"

"Stop them before they stop us," Natasha concluded quietly.

"I won't let these assassins come after you if it's in my power to do something about it, _ahuvi_," Eyal said firmly.

"Damn you," Natasha said but there was no conviction in her words. "Damn you, you stupid, noble fool." She sighed and there was a heavy pause, Anne's grip on August's hand tight as they waited for her response. Finally she cleared her throat and said, "Come on, we will take one of the CIA's Jeeps. It will get us there much faster than the ATVs. Let us all go be stupid, noble fools then."

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><p>* <em>ahuvi<em> – an Israeli term of endearment meaning "my love."


	24. Chapter Twenty-Two, The Breath Before

AN: Too impatient to wait for it to be beta'd. I'll fix it all later, lol.

Last build-up chapter, with a bit of introspective Auggie and a little fluff, before it starts getting into the climactic action stuff.

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><p><span><strong>Chapter Twenty-Two<strong>

The drive north went by in a blur, Eyal steering the Jeep much more quickly than they had on their arrival. It was a good thing that the CIA had flattened out a clear path when they had come into the jungle, because Annie couldn't see well enough to direct them. They rode in silence, all of them too tense to bother with conversation. August jostled about on the back seat, one hand clutching one of the outer frame bars and the other still laced with Annie's.

Well over an hour after they had started - about halfway to the monastery, Eyal informed them - they were forced to stop in a small city for petrol. While the other two were busy with preparing the Jeep to continue, August and Anne waited awkwardly in the back bench.

"How're your eyes?" August asked. "See again yet?"

"Yes, finally," she responded. "They were just starting to get better when we came out of the jungle and the sunlight was so bright it messed them up again, but it's all basically cleared up now. Thankfully." They settled into an uneasy quiet and Annie absent-mindedly traced his knuckles with her thumb. "Auggie?" she asked softly. He hummed to show that he was listening, caught up in the gentle brush of her narrow thumb over his scraped and bruised knuckles. "Was that what it was like for you? When you first lost your sight, I mean."

August felt the muscles along his shoulders instinctively bunch as the memory resurfaced.

_His bare body was freezing cold and there was a horrible, agonising pain in his head. The noise that escaped him was half-groan, half-whimper. He heard someone shifting next to him in the darkness. "Well, well, look what's alive," the voice said. It took him a minute to place it as the arena doctor. "Wasn't sure this one was gonna pull through."_

_"'Bout time he woke up," another said. "Boss is already ticked he won't be able to fight tonight. If he's not ready by the time we've moved to Phoenix, he'll be real pissed. Sabre here's one of his best investments."_

_Sabre wanted to rub away the painful throbbing in his head, but his arms wouldn't lift. No, they couldn't. Something had trapped his wrists in place at his sides. When he struggled to pull his hands free he was met with a sharp slap to the shoulder that made him yelp. "Hold still before you split your stitches," the doctor threatened._

_The pain in his head had made tears burn at the corners of his eyes but he fought them back. Fighters didn't cry. It wasn't allowed. If Boss caught him, he'd be turned over to the guards to be taught a lesson. He didn't want to go through that again. Still, he couldn't help but be grateful the lights were off. They would've just made his head hurt worse._

_Doctor physically moved Sabre's head and prodded at the sore spot, and he couldn't hold in his shout. "Shut it, would ya?" Doctor snapped, and then continued poking at the sensitive flesh. It was so dark in the room, he couldn't even understand how Doctor was working in the first place. It was like the dead of night, deep underground. Like the kennels in the last city after the guards turned out the lights for the night._

_"Damn, Doc, how much morphine you use on him?" the second voice asked in amusement. Sabre tried to pull back as he felt hot breath on his face, wrinkling his nose against the smell of chewing tobacco. "Must be high as a kite, he can't focus on shit."_

_Doctor let out a confused noise and finally stopped poking. "Didn't give him any," he said. "I'm all out. Used the last of it when that friend of yours fell out of the damn truck." The second man chuckled. Sabre tensed as a plastic-gloved hand grabbed his chin and held him firmly in place, leaning in close. He could hear the faint whistle as the man exhaled through his nose, a sound which had appeared after Pitbull had broken it with his head back during the hot season. "Well I'll be damned."_

_What were they looking at? How were they looking at anything in the first place? It was so dark. So damn dark. Sabre's eyes flicked around, searching for any indication of a light, but there was nothing but the crushing, pressing darkness. There was a loud click just to the left of his face, and his eyes snapped to it; he could feel the tingle along his skin brought on by proximity, but even so close he couldn't make out the vaguest shadow._

_Panic began to set in as he felt Doctor closely surveying his face. What had they done to him? Why couldn't he see anything? Doctor was pushing and pulling at his eyelids and making low hums in his throat. "Why can't I see?" he finally asked, unable to contain his fear any longer. It was just some cruel joke, right? They were punishing him for doing so bad in the fight. That had to be. It wouldn't be dark forever._

_"Shit," Doctor breathed and he straightened up, letting go of Sabre's face. "Go grab Boss, he's gonna wanna see this."_

_"His eyes busted?" the second man asked in awe._

_Doctor hummed deeply again. "What a waste. Had a few more years in him, at the least. It'll be a damn shame to get rid of him, but there's no money in a blind fighter."_

August's free hand drifted unconsciously through his hair until he felt the thick, knotted scar beneath the curls. He pressed his eyes shut, trying to push the memories back into the locked off corner of his mind. He started when he felt a hand brush his knee.

"I'm sorry, Auggie, I shouldn't have asked," Annie said timidly. "Just forget about it."

August shook his head and cleared his throat. "It wasn't quite so bad, I think," he admitted. "At least I could still hear when it happened. Blind _and_ deaf, that's a lot less fun. Although it wasn't much fun listening to them talk about having me 'put down' if I couldn't fight anymore."

Annie slid closer to him, setting their joined hands on her thigh as she lined herself flush with him. "That's horrible," she said. "I don't know what to say. Sorry just doesn't feel like it would cut it."

"Not your fault," he said and shrugged dismissively. "That's just the way it was there. I won't pretend it was a good thing, but I suppose it did make me a stronger person. And who knows what would've happened to me if they hadn't picked me up when they did. Would've probably just starved on the streets, or frozen to death. A bit of a knock on the head is the lesser of the two evils, I reckon."

"Is that where-?" Anne trailed off, and she unlaced their hands to touch the hand he still held against the crown of his head.

"Here," he said. He took her fingers and placed them over the scar. Phantom chills raced down his spine as she outlined the wide, jagged knot left behind.

"God, that's huge," she said breathlessly. "How didn't that kill you?"

August laughed dryly. "That's what the doctor said too. The fighting rings weren't exactly high-class, usually just made wherever they didn't think they'd get caught. Abandoned warehouses, foreclosed business complexes, there was even an old barn once. There was a bit of old metal piping and such stuck in the walls of the ring, and Mammoth - the kid I was fighting - picked me up and threw me like a ragdoll. He was a _lot_ bigger than me. Caught my head right on the broken off bit of metal. At the hospital, when my dad took me there after he rescued me a few years later, they said if the angle had been just a bit different it would've killed me immediately." His lips twisted into a wry, sardonic smile. "I'm just a lucky guy, I suppose."

Annie's hand slid down his neck and shoulder gently before rejoining his hand on her lap. "I can't believe places like that exist," she said darkly. "That there are people who can treat other humans like that. Especially children." She hesitated and then asked, "How long were you...?"

"Four years," he answered her unfinished question. "I went in at seven, they think, and they got shut down when I was eleven. Not positive though, we didn't exactly keep calendars. But it was winter when I got picked up, and there was one more winter before I went blind and two more after."

He could feel Annie slowly shaking her head, the hair that has escaped her ponytail swaying against his shoulder. And then - "My God, how are you _not_ a serial killer?"

The question was so unexpected and blunt that August instantly laughed. Of all of the possible responses, he had never anticipated that one. "I mean it," she pressed on, but he could hear faint traces of a smile on her as well. "How does a person go through all of that, especially at such a young, impressionable age, and not come out the other side as some sort of violent sociopath?"

"What makes you think I'm not?" he replied, not completely able to keep the self-deprecating bitterness from seeping through. Annie's grip on his hand tightened, the other one coming up to caress the back of his hand soothingly. "I was messed up a while after my dad saved me. Defensive, territorial, skittish. It took a lot of therapy to learn how to be comfortable around normal people, because I'd never really known that before, you know? In the end though, it was all thanks to my dad. He was so patient with me. And he circumvented so many rules, went so far out of his way to be able to keep me, to take care of me; how could I not try my hardest after that? I got better, because I had to show him that he hadn't wasted all of that effort."

August dipped his head, rubbing at his aching eyes with the heel of his free hand, trying to ease away the pain that came when he thought about his father. The father who had rescued him from the darkness; who had never judged him and never treated him any different than his brothers; the father who had risked his job and his life to give him a home. The father who had died thinking, after everything he'd done, that he'd been betrayed in the end, just like people had warned him would happen.

"It's not gone though," he continued. Now that he'd started talking, finally opening up that deepest corner that was always scratching at the doors but never let loose, he found he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. "That part of me. The animal. They raised us like dogs, and when the Boss gave commands, we followed. When he told us to attack, we attacked. And sometimes," he paused, his chest and throat painfully tight. Annie waited calmly, not moving or judging, simply stroking the skin along the edge of his wrist brace and waiting silently. He cleared his throat roughly. "Sometimes I still hear his voice, the Boss'. Pushing me, urging me on, telling me to not back down, to fight. To win, no matter the cost."

"But you don't." August lifted his head, confused. "You don't act on it, I mean. Even when you've got that voice telling you, you don't listen to it. You do what you feel is right. And that's what really makes you who are you, don't you think?"

August thought back to the last real conversation he'd had with his father. _"You have always been the one to do what he knew to be right, and damned with the consequences."_ Maybe his dad had known all along. Maybe he had understood, at least to some extent, the constant battle raging in the back of his mind. It had been so much easier when he was younger, when his decisions had been smaller and simpler. In the CIA, the lines had become so blurry. They had to do bad things for good reasons, and each time it made it that much harder to know which way was right.

"They teach you psychology in that monastery?" August asked drolly.

Anne laughed and laid her head on his shoulder. "Philosophy, actually, but that's a common mistake."

August snorted, but was saved from saying anything more by the return of Natasha and Eyal. The Jeep rocked as they climbed in, bringing with them the strong scent of spices. "You brought food?" August asked eagerly, his stomach twisting in anticipation. Between the anxiety and adrenaline, he hadn't realised just how long it had been since he'd eaten.

"Nose of a dog," Natasha muttered and he heard her shifting around in the front seat. "Here. If we are going to die, best not to be on an empty stomach." She pressed a paper wrapped bundle against the back of his hand, and he took it gratefully. There was a sloshing sound as Annie accepted the proffered bottles of water, but August was preoccupied with unwrapping the bundle.

"We should be there in less than two hours," Eyal announced. The Jeep vibrated as he turned over the ignition and shifted it into gear. "So now would probably be a good time to start coming up with a plan."

"Right," August said, the piece of spiced flatbread halfway to his mouth immediately forgotten as the reality set in once more. "No pressure then."

. . . . .

August leaned his good shoulder against the tree and took in a deep breath. They were camped out in the jungle not far from the monastery, just far enough away to not be noticed by the patrols. After hours spent scouting the area and laying out plans, they had retreated to the safety of their camp while Eyal ran one last surveillance of the area before they made their move. The sun was just going down and August could feel the temperature falling as he stood there.

A warm, electric current rolled up his spine and August lifted his head, the corner of his lips pulling up. The feeling had disoriented him before, the way his nerves tingled every time she got close to him, but at some point over the last few days it had become almost comforting. He tilted his head in the direction of her soft footfalls as she shuffled up beside him.

"So, what'cha looking at?" Annie asked casually.

August smirked and and rubbed his jaw; days away from modern amenities had left a healthy bit of stubble. "Just enjoying this jungle view you keep raving about," he said and gestured vaguely in front of him.

Annie laughed softly. "Hmm, that _is_ a lovely pile of rocks," she said. "Good choice."

"I thought so," he agreed. They lapsed back into quiet, and August closed his eyes, listening to the ambient sounds of the jungle around them. After a few minutes, Annie stepped slightly closer to him, her cool shoulder touching his arm.

"Auggie," she started and he hummed to show he was listening, "are you sure about this plan?"

August couldn't hold back the snort. "I've never been _less_ sure of anything in my life, Annie dearest," he admitted. Between the four of them they had managed to cobble together a plan that would get them into monastery and get the knife back into their possession, but it was all tentative at best. There was a healthy margin for error at each step. "But it's the best shot we've got of doing this."

Annie sighed and let her head fall against his shoulder. "Think there's any chance of us getting out of this alive?"

"We've survived everything else so far, haven't we?" he replied with a shrug. He slipped his arm up around her and she immediately turned into him, wrapping her arms loosely around the small of his back and nestling her forehead against his chest. August smiled as he tucked her head beneath his chin, breathing in her familiar citrusy scent. "Don't worry; I promised I would keep you safe."

"But what if I lose you?"

Annie's response, mumbled into his chest, was so quiet that August barely heard it. He felt his chest constrict even as he smiled fondly. "Oh Princess, what I wouldn't give to have met you under better circumstances."

"You mean my trying to kill you with a candlestand wasn't romantic enough for you?" she asked, a hint of a laugh in her voice.

"No, that part was fine," he replied in amusement. "It's just this whole end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it rubbish that's getting in the way. Shame I've got a moral compass." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, drinking in the peace and comfort of the moment. Perhaps in another world, in a different lifetime...

The rustle of plants made August lift his head and tense expectantly. "August, Barbie," Natasha said, and the two of them instantly stepped apart. August smiled when he heard Annie let out an affronted noise at the nickname. "Eyal has returned from his search. We are ready to go."

"Right, of course," August said, steeling himself. He took Annie's hand and then nodded to Natasha. "Let's go."


	25. Chapter Twenty-Three, The Plunge

AN: Believe it or not, yes I have actually still been working on this story. I've got everything mapped out in the back of my mind but this chapter was fighting me until I finally figure it out last night and then wrote this whole thing in one day. Here's hoping I can keep up the momentum because I feel bad about where this chapter ends.

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><p><span><strong>Chapter Twenty-Three<strong>

The jungle was a constant cacophony of noise and it was setting Eyal on edge. It might keep their sounds muffled, but it also masked the sound of anyone who might be following them. He couldn't shake the constant paranoia that there was someone waiting just beyond his eyeline. The feeling seemed to be shared by everyone except Anne, who looked more comfortable than she had since they had met.

"There are a series of escape tunnels built beneath the monastery," she explained as she led them through the trees in the gathering darkness. "They are made to be completely undetectable and only open from inside the monastery, so they can't be accessed by anyone who might stumble across them in the jungle. We're supposed to use them in case of attack so we can get the dagger out and to safety. It's what we were trying to do during the CIA attack but Auggie found the passage and stopped my courier."

"He attacked me first," August said in his defence.

"How did the blind guy find the undetectable passage in the first place?" Eyal asked sceptically.

"Blind luck," August said with a smirk. "It was completely by accident, really."

"I know where all of the tunnels are; it was part of my training," Anne continued. "Up ahead there's a tunnel that leads directly to the hall outside the dagger room, which is where they're keeping it as far as we can guess."

"That's the chatter I picked up from the guards," Natasha confirmed.

"Do I hear water?" August asked abruptly.

"Yes," Anne responded. "The entrance to the tunnel is behind a waterfall." She glanced sideways at August in the dark and grinned. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. You could use a shower anyway."

"Charming, you are," August said sarcastically but even from his spot at the back of the ground, Eyal saw the affectionate squeeze of hands that the pair exchanged.

Anne chuckled under her breath as she pulled him to a stop. The jungle had opened up into a clearing just big enough for the water, jutting ridges of rock breaking up the trees. Water tumbled over a large stone outcropping, not tall but wide and heavy. The crash of the waterfall was loud as they stood at the edge of the small lake that formed at its base, and Anne had to shout to be heard. "This is it," she said and nodded to Eyal.

"I'm on it," the Israeli said and checked the pocket of his cargo pants again for the supplies. "Wait out here while I arm it. In an enclosed space like that the concussion could kill you." He exchanged a quick look with Natasha, whose concern was written in her eyes, and then made his way around the lake until he stood at the waterfall. The mist was cool and sweet on his sun-drenched skin. Taking a breath, he dived.

Instantly the pressure of the waterfall blasted down on him, forcing him roughly against the rocky floor. Eyal struggled to keep the air in his lungs as he clawed his way out from beneath the spray. When he finally reached the shallows on the underside of the falls he rocketed to the surface and took in an overcompensating breath.

The noise in the cave was thunderous. Eyal stumbled out onto the stone floor and shook himself before getting to work. He ran his hands along the back wall until he found the minute seam in the rock, paper thin and only perceptible because he knew to look for it. Anne had said the mechanism that held the door was about three feet from the ground. He measured with his eyes and then drew a block of C4 from his pocket, attaching it to the stone in what he hoped was the right spot. Next he dragged out the wiring device and timer, connecting them to the block.

"Now just-" he muttered to himself as he adjusted the timer. He tried to turn it up to a full minute but then the timer fizzed, jumped to twenty seconds, and began counting down. "Shit!"

Running, Eyal threw himself into the waterfall. Gravity shoved him down beneath the water just as the back wall of the cave exploded inward. The concussions rippled through the water and made his head spin. He struggled against the current, trying not to inhale the cold water. His chest was burning by the time he managed to scratch his way to air.

"Eyal!" Natasha's voice broke over the crush of the water, her voice panicked.

"I'm okay," he called back, blinking water from his eyes. He could just make out their dark shapes as the other three edged around the lake toward the waterfall. "Damn timer shorted. Let's go in case someone heard that. I'll go back through and pull you guys up. Be careful, it's strong."

It was easier getting under the waterfall that third time and he stood on the rocks, watching the dark water beneath the falls. A moment later a smudge of black appeared in the froth and Eyal grabbed the outstretched arm, tugging August out from under the downward pressure.

August surfaced and shook his head, his shaggy hair spraying water in every direction. "Whew, that was refreshing," he said as he used Eyal's grip to guide himself up out of the water.

The dark splotch of Natasha appeared next and she gasped as Eyal dragged her out. She sat down to catch her breath, cursing quietly in Russian. She was just recovering herself as Eyal helped Anne out of the water.

"Wow, that was more effective than I expected," the blonde said, staring at the gaping chasm in the back wall. Eyal grabbed a handful of portable glow sticks from his pocket and passed them out to the other two that needed them. The eerie green glow made them all look sickly and ethereal.

"Good because I'm not in a digging mood," August joked, oblivious to the change. He was just finishing pulling off his arm braces and he tucked the soggy tech into his back pocket. "Annie, I'm flyin' blind until these dry."

"I'm here," she said and took his arm. "Sorry but this was our best way in."

August adjusted his grasp on her bicep and shrugged. "C'mon, Eyal was right. We should move before someone comes looking."

"Watch your step," she cautioned as she led him to the opening. "There's rubble everywhere."

"Ah, did Eyal and his toys make a mess?" August sing-songed. He tripped over a rock but when he righted himself he was grinning. "Shame, messes are usually my job."

"Yes well you can't have all the fun," Eyal said as he and Natasha followed the other two through the gap in the wall.

Beyond it was a low-ceilinged passageway, barely wide enough for one. The four of them trudged in a single file line down the tunnel, which eventually curved and wound back toward the monastery. After they'd been walking for about a mile another tunnel branched off to the side, and a quarter mile later were two more.

"This place is a labyrinth," Natasha said when she spotted more branches ahead.

"It was designed so only those who know where they're going can get through," Anne said over her shoulder. "In case anyone ever did find their way in." She took a sudden left turn and then stopped. "Here, this is it."

Eyal looked up at the square stone panel in the ceiling above them. A handle hung from beneath it, obviously meant for a person to use to lower themselves down. "How does it open?" the Israeli asked.

"Boost me up," Anne said. "I know where the catch is. It's meant to open from the other side but I should be able to get it open from in here."

"I hope so because we don't have a plan B," August responded. He threaded his fingers together and on Anne's other side Eyal did the same. Anne stepped up onto their hands and it was enough height for her to easily manipulate the tiny mechanism in the door. She tinkered with it for a moment and then let out a triumphant noise. She lifted the stone just slightly.

"Wait, I hear voices," August hissed and Anne froze, the stone panel lifted a mere centimetre. None of the others could hear more than a faint murmuring sound, but it seemed that August understood them because his face paled in the green light and he cursed viciously. "We're in trouble, guys. The dagger is in the main room but they've got a man guarding it."

"We can handle one guard," Natasha said.

"Not this guy," August countered grimly. "I recognise his name, he's a rogue CIA agent and the best sniper in the country. We wouldn't get passed the door frame before there was a bullet in our heads, let alone get close enough to kill him."

"What if we didn't need to get close to kill him?" Eyal asked.

"No, Eyal, you can't," Natasha objected immediately.

"I'm the only one who can do it," Eyal said firmly. "I could take him out from the doorway, no problem. As good a sniper as he thinks he is, I'm better."

"Are you sure?" August asked uncertainly.

"Eyal, don't do this," Natasha pleaded frantically. "We'll come up with something else."

"There is nothing else," Eyal argued. "I can do this, Natasha. Trust me."

"If we're going to do this, it's gotta be now," August said. "The guards just passed, we don't know how long before they circle back this way." Anne climbed down out of their hands and Eyal stood in the centre, directly beneath the stone square. He had just reached up for the handle when Natasha stepped up in front of him.

"You had better come back," she said. "You stupid, noble fool." And then she grabbed the lapels of his shirt and dragged him down into a searing kiss. Eyal moulded against her lips, revelling in what he had learned to love more than air. "_Ya tebya lyublyu_."

Eyal smiled and placed a last, lingering kiss against her forehead. "_Gam ani ohev otach_." Then he shoved the ceiling panel out of the way and pulled himself up into the hall.

The large waiting hall was deserted, filled with a strange, crackling current in the air that made his skin prickle. Even in its emptiness, it was beautiful, in the way all old architecture possesses. The stones of the walls and floors were worn down by time and feet to a smooth polish and a golden rug ran from the simple wooden door at one end of the room to the elaborate double doors at the other.

He didn't get much time to admire the opened double doors though before a faint click alerted him to danger. He bolted sideways just as a bullet clipped through the air exactly where he'd been standing. Drawing his gun, Eyal ran over to press his back against one of the doors, listening for movement from the cavernous room beyond.

"Little mouse, crawling through holes in the walls," a voice, guttural and coarse, jeered from the next room. "You know what we do with mice? We kill 'em."

"So stop talking and do something then," Eyal called back, drawing back the safety on his gun. It was only a 9mm with a silencer, and from the sounds of it he was up against a proper rifle, but he wasn't horribly concerned.

He hadn't earned his reputation for nothing, after all.

"Oh you're ballsy," the sniper said in amusement.

"You've no idea," Eyal responded. Twisting around the door frame, he fired off a string of quick shots in the direction of the voice before hastily ducking back behind the door. He grinned smugly when he heard the sniper let out a startled noise. He took advantage of the distraction to sprint into the room and duck down behind a mound of CIA supplies. "Did I get you?"

"Nearly, you bastard," the sniper said but even under that Eyal could hear him smiling. "This'll be fun."

There was a tense silence in the room as Eyal contemplated his next move. There were plenty of hiding places in the enormous grand hall; it seemed the CIA had taken to using it as a storage room because there were piles of supplies set up around the room. Judging by the sound of his voice, the sniper was somewhere near the altar that stood at the head of the room. The problem was that that was where the dagger was as well.

The crack of the rifle startled Eyal and he hissed as a bullet seared across his forearm. He hadn't noticed that he'd been leaning out from behind his shelter while surveying the room. It couldn't have been more than a centimetre of exposed sleeve but that was all the sniper had needed. He shrank back into his spot and checked the damage. It had taken out a chunk of skin but the heat had practically cauterised the wound so he wasn't bleeding much. It stang but would be fine.

"Gotcha," the sniper crowed triumphantly.

"Barely," Eyal countered indifferently, adjusting his grip on his gun. He leaned toward the left side of the shelter and allowed the nose of his gun to appear around the corner, and then immediately bolted the other direction. The sniper had fallen for the ruse and fired at the left side, giving Eyal time to race to a better shelter closer to the middle of the room.

"Oh clever," the sniper said and there was a definitive click as he reloaded. "You are a tricky one."

Eyal crouched behind the stack of boxes and contemplated his options. This sniper was good and he didn't know how much longer he could hold out before he took a proper hit. He had used his best diversion tactic now and he didn't think it would work a second time. Pulling out the clip, he saw that he only had six bullets left. However if he could keep the cocky bastard talking enough, he could figure out a close enough target. Of course that meant his opponent would likely be doing the same, but it was his only shot now.

"You know you're not too bad," Eyal said conversationally.

"You're not so bad yourself," the sniper replied. "Damn near got me that first time. Where'd you do your training?"

"Tel Aviv," Eyal said.

"Ah, a Mossad man," the sniper concluded. "Impressive. Army Ranger myself, Fort Benning. At least until I got a better offer."

"Yes, the Black Hand, so I had guessed," Eyal said. "Bad choice." He took a deep breath, focusing all of his attention in the direction of the voice. This was it, his one chance. He stepped out from behind his protection, gave himself a fraction of a second to adjust his aim, and then fired four shots.

The sniper crumpled from his perch above the altar, his rifle clattering away across the stone.

Relief swept into him and as it washed away the adrenaline the pain hit him with full force. Choking back a gasp, he looked down. Red patches had blossomed across the front of his shirt, one in his shoulder and two in his stomach. The pain swept over him like fire and he staggered, putting a hand out against the boxes to steady himself. His immediate thought was that Natasha was going to kill him.

Noises from the doors behind the altar spurred him into action again. He swallowed back his pain and stumbled to the raised dais where the dagger was resting on a sculpted stand. Eyal picked it up and then jogged back across the room toward the door. He had just reached the doors when it happened; a sudden agonising flash of pain in the small of his back.

He stumbled and the dagger flew from his hand, skidding across the floor before stopping mere feet from the opening. Behind him he could hear the sound of men flooding the room and he knew that he had only seconds - and two bullets left - to act.

"I'm sorry, Tash," he murmured, and then sighted on the dagger and fired. The bullet clipped the knife and sent it sliding the final distance to the open floor panel, where it disappeared over the ledge. At the same time a blinding pain exploded in the back of his skull, a split second of white that faded into nothing.

His gun hit the floor with a miserable clack.

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><p><em>Ya tebya lyublyu <em>= "I love you" in Russian

_Gam ani ohev otach = _"I love you too" in Hebrew

(AN: I used Google translate for this so if someone knows better please correct me.)


	26. Chapter Twenty-Four, Conrad

AN: This story just hit 100 reviews! Thanks you guys, you are brilliant, and it's great to know that there are still a handful of you guys out there even though it's taken me forever and a half to update. We're really getting down to the end now, I'd say another five chapters or so.

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><p><span><strong>Chapter Twenty-Four<strong>

All three of them had watched the dagger fall down between them as if in slow motion, the blade spinning over itself until it landed, hilt first, on the stone floor. It bounced and clattered before finally settling on its side, gently rocking with leftover momentum. Then the crack of gunfire and the sickeningly wet sound of impact sent a pulse of pure terror through Natasha's eyes.

It seemed that August knew immediately what had happened because his features morphed into steely determination. "Annie, close the panel," he instructed sharply, his voice low.

"No!" Natasha's voice cracked, her throat thick with emotion, and she tried to make a break for the open panel. August caught her around the waist with one arm, using his other hand to cover her mouth.

"I'm so sorry," he said and for a moment the anguish broke through his CIA facade. "I'm sorry but you have to keep quiet or it was all for nothing. He will have died for _nothing_."

Anne stood on her toes and managed to drag the panel back into its proper place, once more enclosing them in the alien ambience of the plastic glow sticks. Natasha fought tooth and nail against August's restraining arms, kicking and clawing at his hands as tears coursed down her cheeks. August never flinched, simply cradling her body against his and muttering, "I'm sorry, Tash, I'm so sorry," over and over again.

It took several long minutes - tense as the sound of footsteps crossed over them and then away again - before Natasha finally seemed to tire. The fight left her in one fell swoop and she crumpled weakly into August's chest, sobbing beneath the muffle of his hand. "I know, I'm so sorry," he said, releasing her only to pull her more snugly into his chest. She clutched his shirt and trembled, trying to swallow back the sound of her tears. "But he did this for you. For us. So we could finish this and you'll be safe."

Natasha straightened, rubbing away the moisture on her face with the backs of her hands. Her eyes were flashing in the green light and she glanced from August to Anne fiercely. Then she stooped to pick up the dagger and held it out to August. "Let us go stop these men who killed Eyal, yes?"

August smiled - a sad, grim determination - and nodded as he tucked the dagger into his belt. "Let's go," he agreed and he extended his hand expectantly. Anne took it and nestled it into the curve of her arm, and then set off back down the tunnel. Natasha strode purposefully at her side, the Russian's face a composed mask over pained eyes.

Focusing on the task at hand, she navigated their way down the tunnels that lead toward the front end of the monastery. They had the dagger again, now it was on to the second phase of their plan. It took them practically no time to reach the end of the tunnel they needed and Anne released the catch in the wall that opened the doorway. The three of them emerged into a moon-drenched patch of jungle and only metres away they could make out the glow of the CIA encampment.

"We need to get into the base," August whispered. "It'll be the biggest tent, that's where he'll be hiding out."

Anne spotted the right tent almost immediately, a large construction of army green canvas that seemed to be comprised of multiple rooms. The problem though was the extensive number of soldiers that were currently patrolling near the tent. "It's too heavily guarded," Anne said, shaking her head. "There's no way we can get to him there. We need to come up with another plan."

"No, we have to do it now," August argued. "It'll be a miracle if he doesn't already know the dagger is missing and once he does they'll come looking for us. It's now or never."

"You need a distraction," Natasha said decisively. "Wait for my signal."

"What signal?" August asked, frowning.

Natasha smirked in response. "Trust me, you will know it," she said. She set a hand on August's forearm and squeezed gently. "Just promise me you will stop the man who started all of this. For Eyal."

"Tash, you don't have to-"

"Promise me, August," Natasha repeated.

August's eyes were sad but he nodded. "I promise," he said solemnly.

"Good." Natasha drew her gun from her thigh holster and peered around the trees. "On my signal, go." With that she jogged away into the jungle, melding into the shadows until she disappeared entirely. Anne could tell by the tense set of his shoulders that August was listening intently to the sound of her footsteps and when she passed out of even his hearing range he slumped slightly.

"She's an amazing woman," Anne said, taking his hand reassuringly.

August smiled softly and laced his fingers through hers. "That she is. Clearly I have a type."

Anne flushed with pleasure but even then she couldn't shake her unease. She stared through the foliage toward the encampment, her eyes falling on the large base tent. "I don't like this plan, Auggie," she admitted. "It's such a risk. What if it doesn't work?"

"It'll work," he said resolutely. "It will, I know it." He tugged on her hand, drawing her in to wrap his arms around her. She melded into his body, tucking her head into the hollow of his collarbone where she fit like she was built to be there. "Don't worry, princess, this isn't the end. We'll finish this and then we'll run away together, just like we planned."

"You'd better be right," she said into his clavicle, tightening her grip around his back. "Running away alone would be so boring."

"Knew I'd grow on you eventually," August teased playfully and she smirked in reply. He pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head. "Annie, I think I l-"

A sudden rush of shouting made them both look up. Through the trees Anne could see guards gathering and running for the opposite side of the camp, arming their guns as they went. In the distance she could hear the revving of an engine. "I think that's our cue," she said as she noticed that the path between them and the tent was now empty. "Auggie, this is it."

"Right," he said, taking her hand. "Let's go."

Anne straightened up and led him out of the trees and into the encampment. She led them around to the back of the tent and then paused. Standing on her toes to put her lips against his ear, she whispered, "This had better work." Then she kissed his cheek and set his hand on the flap of the tent.

August smiled, swallowed hard, and then slipped through the part in the heavy fabric.

. . . . .

Conrad bent over the table, examining the map in front of him critically. His men were working all around the monastery, digging and searching for the underground weapons' compound. Gritting his teeth, he scratched through another area on the map and then tossed down his pen in frustration. It had been almost a full week of work and so far they still hadn't found anything. He was starting to wonder if perhaps it wasn't a fruitless task but he couldn't give up.

Not after he'd given his word to their father.

He dragged a hand back through his hair and scrubbed his face wearily. Raised voices from outside the tent made him look up with a scowl and he immediately reached for the radio on the table. "What's going on out there?" he asked.

"Intruder on the northern border," an agent replied in brisk tones. "We're in pursuit."

Conrad felt his throat constrict. Someone trying to break into their base? It could only be one person, the person who had caused all of this. "Capture him alive," he ordered into the radio and received a 'copy that' in return. He dropped the radio unceremoniously onto the table and sighed. _August, what are you doing?_

The ghost chill ran up his spine just before an arm looped over his chest and he felt the cool pressure of a blade against his throat. Scenarios flashed through his head, attack responses and disarming techniques, but he couldn't bring himself to act on any of them. He knew, without looking, who held the blade. "August."

"Conrad," August replied quietly. "Look, I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk, but I can't have you calling for back-up, okay?"

"And why would I listen to you?" Conrad asked, the cool anger that had been nestled in his stomach churning into life.

"Because if you give me five minutes to tell you my side, then when it's over I turn myself in," August said. "I hand myself over, no fight. I just want you to hear the truth from me. I'm going to release you now. Please, don't do anything stupid." He withdrew his arms and Conrad stepped out of his reach, turning to survey his little brother.

He was peppered with small injuries and there was dark stubble along his normally clean jaw. In his right hand he was loosely clutching the ornate dagger he had found in the monastery but his left was held up in a sign of surrender. August looked worse for the wear and travel worn, but most of all he looked exhausted; not just physically, but emotionally, judging by the heavy weight behind his unfocused eyes.

"What do you want, August?" Conrad asked, his hand lingering over the gun on his hip. "Why are you here?"

"Because you deserve the truth," August said. "Because you are my brother and you deserve to know what really happened to our father."

"You killed him," Conrad said coldly.

"I didn't," August said immediately with a weary insistence that indicated just how many times he'd said it recently. "I was framed. Because of this." He held up the dagger and Conrad immediately drew his gun in defence, sighting it on his brother's forehead. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you," August said with a rueful smile. He flipped the blade around in his hand and then offered it out to Conrad hilt first. "Here, this is the only thing I have. Take it and I'm completely unarmed. See, I'm not even wearing my arm braces. I'm not here as a spy, Con. I'm here as your little brother."

Conrad took the dagger from August and set it on the table, and then ran his free hand along his brother's sides. He wasn't lying, he was completely unarmed. "Fine, talk," Conrad said without lowering his gun.

"I know it's going to sound completely insane, but hear me out," August said, his hands still held out at his side placatingly. "This dagger is special. It's more than just a knife, it's the centre of a religious group that operates out of this monastery. This dagger is an artefact of sorts with incredible power. If you press the button on the end of the hilt, you'll see."

"You're mental," Conrad said. He dropped his arm, the gun hovering at his waist as he stared in awe at his little brother. What had happened to August? What had caused him to completely snap? At some point his brother had fallen into insanity and Conrad felt the ache of loss just as strongly as he had at the death of his father. "You're trying to tell me this dagger is _magic_?"

"It is and I can prove it," August said. "You just have to trust me this one last time and I promise you'll understand. Just press the button on the hilt. Please, Conrad." And then in a flash he grabbed the dagger from the table. Conrad lifted his gun but before he could pull the trigger, August turned the blade over and plunged it into his own chest.

"August!" Conrad yelped, his gun slipping from his grip as he hurried to catch his brother's body. August groaned, blood bubbling on his lips and his eyes awash with pain. Conrad carefully lowered him to the ground, settling his brother's curly head in his lap. "August, no, please."

Except it was too late. August's head lolled against Conrad's knee, the light gone from his dark eyes. A single stream of crimson blood rolled from the corner of his mouth, soaking into Conrad's trouser leg.

August was dead.

"Why?" Conrad keened. He jerked the knife from his brother's chest, cringing at the open cavity left behind. The blade was dripping blood onto August's shirt, scarlet soaking into the runes that were etched into the metal and making them stand out more prominently. His eyes landed on the glittering gem on the end of the hilt.

This was why August had died. He had killed himself believing that this dagger was magical, that it had abilities beyond this world. Conrad traced his thumb over the ruby. What if he was right? August had always been the smartest of them, despite where he'd come from. He was the most rational and clear-headed, and he never did anything without being sure it was the right thing. So what if he was telling the truth?

It was the only chance he had. He had already lost his father and he suspected that Jai, who had not checked in hours ago when he should have, might also be gone. He couldn't lose his baby brother as well, not if there was even the smallest possibility of saving him. Taking a deep breath, Conrad placed his thumb over the gem and pressed in.

There was a strong, swooping sensation in his stomach, like he'd missed a step going down the stairs, and then suddenly the world exploded in a haze of gold. His vision went strange, as if someone had laid a golden tissue paper over the real images, making edges fuzzy and everything tinted the colour of the desert. Swirls of dust wound in the air around everything, dragging behind the moving objects like smoke trails in the old cartoons he'd watched as a kid.

It was then that the actual movement of the scene struck him. He was watching - himself. The whole thing felt like an out of body experience, observing the scene from back and above like he was completely detached from the man kneeling on the ground in front of him and the collapsed figure beside him. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. All he could do was stare as the people made of grains of gold and red formed the real life scene he had just left.

The figures sprang into motion instantly. The Conrad before him drove the dagger back into August's chest amid a splash of red, and then both of them awkwardly stood. As soon as August was righted on his feet again, he grabbed the dagger in his chest and wrenched it out, tossing it onto the table as the red disappeared and the world was pure gold again.

Conrad's vision blurred into a haze of dull yellow and his stomach leapt uncomfortably again as he felt himself being shoved through space in a way that his body wasn't used to. Everything was gold and then black, and then as quickly as it had begun it was over.

"It is and I can prove it," August said, his jaw set in determination. "You just have to trust me this one last time and I promise you'll understand. Just press the button on the hilt. Please, Conrad." August snatched the dagger from the table and Conrad acted on instinct.

"August, no!" Conrad shouted, throwing out his arm. August's forearms collided with his, stopping the younger man's momentum, and he faltered in surprise. "Augs, you were-" Conrad stared at his little brother in wonder, taking in his unblemished chest and the dark eyes that still held the spark of life. "You were just _dead_."

After a beat of confusion a relieved smile broke out across August's face and he lowered the dagger. "You pressed the button."

"Yeah, but what the hell just happened?" Conrad asked, his mind still reeling from the events of the last two minutes.

"It's what I was trying to tell you," August said energetically. "This dagger is magic. When you press the button on the hilt, it turns back time. That's what you saw; time moving backwards."

"It's how you're alive again when you were dead a minute ago," Conrad concluded. He was struggling to keep up with what was happening, but if he was resolved to one thing it was never disregarding the facts in front of him. Impossible as it seemed, he had just witnessed something that exceeded his understanding of reality, but he couldn't dismiss it. It had happened. August had died and then somehow he had gone back to the point before he had died.

"Exactly," August agreed. "I'm sorry, but I knew the only way to convince you was to show you how it worked."

Conrad eyed the spot on the front of August's shirt that had only just been torn open and blood-stained. It was currently dirty and wrinkled but completely undamaged. "That was quite the risk. How did you know I would push the button?" he asked.

At that August grinned. "Because you're my brother."

"Heaven help me," Conrad responded and they both chuckled lightly. "August, this dagger, this is incredible. But I don't understand what this has to do with everything. With father."

The brightness suddenly left August's eyes. "It's Uncle Henry, Con," he said. "He's the one who killed Dad and framed me. He wants this dagger and everything that's happened in the last few days is all because of him."

"Henry?" Conrad asked sceptically. "He wouldn't."

"But he did. He even confessed to it," August said. "He framed me for Dad's murder so he could get his hands on this dagger. That's why he's here helping you with the search, because he wants to find the hidden tunnels under this monastery too. There's a power source under there that runs this dagger. With it he can turn back time as far as he likes. You remember the story Dad used to tell all the time?"

"The camping trip?" Conrad asked, and August nodded. "What does - Oh." The implication hit him with the force of a freight train and left him breathless. "He wants to undo that. To not save Dad from the bear." He breathed out heavily and ran a hand back over his hair again. "Augs, this is unreal."

"Please, Con, you've got to believe me," August said earnestly. "He killed Dad and framed me, he tried to kill me in Mena at Dad's funeral, and he's got hired assassins after me. Assassins who killed Jai simply for being in the way. You have to trust me. You know how much I loved Dad. After everything he did for me, you know I would never have done anything to hurt him."

Conrad hesitated, contemplating everything that had happened since their Uncle had arrived in their seedy hotel room with an unauthorised change to their mission. He truly had been acting strange since then. Every little thing that he'd done that had put Conrad on edge rushed to the surface of his mind, piecing together in a way he had never seen before. Then he looked at his adopted brother, the boy who had come from nothing and implanted himself so firmly into their family it was as if he had always been there. The boy who had idolised their father and had fought passed his disability to make Dad proud of him.

"Before we left for Sri Lanka the first time," Conrad began, "Dad pulled me aside and he said something to me. He said that a wise leader listens to his council but in the end he always follows his heart." He reached out and put a hand on August's shoulder, and a sudden wash of gratitude filled his little brother's eyes. "I'm sorry it took me so long to accept that advice, little brother."

He was so focused on his brother's smile that Conrad heard the click a second too late. Pain erupted in his back, buckling his knees out from beneath him and sending him into August's chest. The dagger fell into the dust as August grasped the older man's forearms to keep him on his feet.

"Con?" August asked in alarm.

"It's too late, August," drawled a familiar voice from the entrance to the tent.

Conrad struggled to stay upright, clinging to his brother's shoulders for support. The pain in his back was short-circuiting his nerves and muscles as he tried to turn around. Sparks were blinking in his eyes by the time he was facing the blurred figure at the front of the tent but even then there was no mistaking the man. "Henry," he growled, the betrayal rushing through him at full speed and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Sorry, but you're a liability now," Henry said. He lifted his arm and Conrad's life ended in tandem with the sharp retort of the 9mm glock.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Five, Nearly There

AN: My goodness the death toll in this story is getting a bit ridiculous, isn't it? I was at least kinder this time in not leaving you with the cliffhanger I'd originally written for this chapter, so that's something.

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><p><span><strong>Chapter Twenty-Five<strong>

"Conrad!" August's shout split the silence that rang in the wake of the gunshot. The brother that he'd been supporting had fallen against him again, his body nothing more than dead weight in his arms. "Con, no." He carefully lowered his oldest brother to the ground and ran a hand along his face - there on his forehead was a still warm depression that was edged by sticky, copper-scented blood. August pressed his fingers against the pulse point in Conrad's throat even though it was clearly a lost cause.

At the entrance to the tent Henry was rubbing a bit of gunpowder from the nose of his gun with vague disinterest. "Now that he's dealt with," Henry said and his eyes fell on August, "it's just you that I need to take care of."

"How could you?" August snarled, rocketing to his feet. Rage flashed in his eyes as he stood protectively over his brother's body, his heartbeat pounding out a cadence in his ears. His fingers itched for the dagger that he had dropped, wanting nothing more than to carve Henry's heart from his chest with it. Nothing else would ease the agonising ache in his chest that throbbed with the names of everyone that he'd lost - Dad, Stu, Jai, Eyal, Natasha, Conrad.

"Honestly?" Henry asked, his smirk all too evident in his voice. "It was easy."

A hand closed around August's upper arm and before he could react there was the razor-thin chill of a blade being held to his throat. He swallowed and felt the tender skin split at the barely perceptible change in pressure. No fighting his way out of this one then.

The sound of Henry's footfalls on the sand came closer and then he picked up the dagger. August could hear him tracing the designs along the blade with a fingernail, the gentle rasp making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "I must say," Henry started, "I am impressed that you managed to get your hands on this again. You always were the clever one of your brothers. Not like poor, stupid Conrad, just so eager to prove himself to Daddy. All he ever wanted was your father's desk. You though, you're the real strategist. You could've been great."

"I will kill you," August ground out between clenched teeth, trying not to move as the goon's blade pressed in against his skin.

"Oh I doubt that very much," Henry said, amused. "I've won, August. Our crews just broke through into the tunnels and now that I have the dagger back I am going to finish this. Goodbye August." Henry shuffled his weight and then added, "Keep him here. Your boss has a lesson he wants to teach him."

The man behind August grunted his understanding, and then Henry turned on his heel and left the tent.

"Let me guess," August said, "Black Hand?" The assassin chuckled softly under his breath but didn't respond. It didn't matter though, that wasn't the sound he'd been listening for. A soft smile stole across his lips. If he could just keep the guy distracted for a minute more... "Thought as much. Traitor. How could you just betray your country like that? You make me sick."

"You shut it now or I'll cut the tongue out of that chatty little mouth of yours," the assassin said angrily. He released August's arm to grab him by the hair and jerk his head back, holding the knife more firmly against his throat. August held his breath, knowing that in this position he was one slip of the hand away from putting a new hole in his windpipe. "That's more like it. Oh you just wait until my boss gets here, you sarcastic asshole. He's got it out for you and he's going t-"

There was a sickening crack and the man's grip went slack. August batted his arm away and dodged to the side just as the assassin crumpled into a heap at his feet. He gingerly touched the shallow gash across his neck and then looked up in the direction of the soft panting breaths. "Thanks Annie," he said with a quick smile.

"No problem," she responded. "C'mon, your uncle took off with the dagger. I know another way we can get down to the sandglass chamber. We have to stop him before he can pierce the glass."

"One second," August said, kneeling down. He skated his fingers along the sand until he found the knife that the assassin had dropped and he tucked it into his belt. He reached further and found Conrad's gun beneath his arm. August handed her the gun, used his free hand to lower his brother's eyelids respectfully, and then straightened up. "Okay, lead the way."

Anne took his extended hand and pulled him behind her as she left the tent the same way they'd come in. "The guardians built another set of tunnels that run beneath the first, ones that lead straight to the sandglass chamber. If we hurry we should be able to beat your uncle there."

"What is it with you people and tunnels?" August asked exasperatedly as he hurried along close behind Anne, her hand in his the only thing giving him any indication of what was ahead of him. They wound back into the jungle and then angled around to the left, heading toward the back of the monastery again. August could barely keep his footing as he ran blindly through the brush behind Anne but they didn't have time to slow down. Not when Henry was already on his way to the sandglass chamber with the dagger.

He'd spent the last week sporadically turning back time and yet now they were running out of it.

It was a surprise when Anne abruptly skidded to a stop and he collided with her from behind before he could slow his momentum. "What?" he asked, his hand going to the knife in his belt, immediately suspecting the worst.

"We're here," Anne said a bit breathlessly. "I need something to trigger the catch though. Do you have something small I can use?"

"Hold on, I think I have a hairpin or something in my pocket," August said, plunging his hand into the pocket of his jeans.

"Why do you have a hairpin?" Anne asked in amusement. "Trying to control those flyaway bangs?"

August smirked and rolled his eyes. "They're good for picking locks," he answered. "It's a bit juvenile but it works. My father taught me how when I was a kid." He gathered up everything in his pocket and opened his fist for Anne to find and grab the hairpin. She threw him off guard by picking up the shell bracelet Natasha had found in the cave instead.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, her voice suddenly low and brimming with suppressed emotion.

"That cave where you were gonna put the dagger into the stone," August answered uncertainly, wondering what it was about the bracelet that had triggered something in her. He genuinely couldn't tell by her voice and the tension rolling off her if she was about to cry or scream at him. "The guy who ambushed us and took the dagger dropped it when Tash chased him off. Why? What is it?"

"I know who the traitor is," she said and he could hear a tremor in her speech that hadn't been there before. "This is my bracelet. They took it from me at Langley. There's only one reason the man who attacked us would have it, and it's because he gave it to me in the first place. But I can't believe he'd betray us. Betray me."

"Who, Annie?" August asked. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and he could feel her shaking under his hand. She was clearly upset, she almost sounded heart-broken. And like that August knew who she was talking about. "It's him, isn't it? The man that you loved, the one who left you?"

"Ben," Anne said. "He gave me this ages ago, back when we were first together. He has one as well. They're supposed to bind our souls together." She shuddered and August resisted the urge to draw her into his body and console her. It was clear she was still working through things; she would come to him when she was ready. "That's why he left. That's how your uncle found out about the dagger in the first place. Ben left and went back to being a mercenary and he betrayed us all."

"And now he's working with the Black Hand and trying to kill us," August said but something stood out to him and he paused. "No, not us. Just me. That night when they ambushed us after the lake, the first time around they killed everyone except you. That's why. Ben told them to spare you."

Anne made a half-hysterical noise. "What, does he think that I'll come back to him after all this? After all he's done." She huffed and then August felt her step back from him. She grunted as she threw the bracelet as hard as she could and in the distance he heard it hit a tree with a dull clink. "Come on, we've got to move."

"Aye aye, princess," August said to lighten the mood. Anne puffed out a laugh as she grabbed the bent hairpin from his palm. He heard it scratch against stone as she worked at the catch and then there was a rush of air as a door swung inward.

"This way," she said. "Stay close."

"I wasn't planning on sight-seeing," he responded, following her through the narrow opening. They had entered another stone tunnel, this one smelling of that strong, citrusy scent that he had come to associate with Anne. "That smell..."

"It's magic," Anne said from ahead of him. "That's the smell of magic."

"And you told me it was grapefruit," August said in amusement.

The tunnel moved in a steady downward spiral as they made their way deeper below the monastery, the circle several metres wide so that the curve was barely perceptible. It was cool and dusty, and more than once they slipped on the ancient stones, but they didn't dare slow their pace much. Henry had too much of a head start on them.

The stone August had stepped on suddenly let out a tremendous crack and the ground disappeared from beneath him. He was falling down a narrow chute, the dry wind rushing in his ears. On instinct he threw out his arms and legs to slow himself down, the friction chafing the skin from his palms and elbows. Almost as quickly as it had started, he reached the bottom and he rolled to soften the impact.

"Auggie!" Anne's shout echoed down to him, sounding weak and distant.

"I'm fine," he called back, staggering to his feet even though his knees protested. The ankle he had twisted in Ouachita throbbed angrily, jammed from the landing. He limped back to stand beneath the hole so Anne could see him. "Jarred my ankle but I'm okay."

"I think you've gone down to the next level," she said in surprise. "Wait there, I'll catch up in a minute."

"I can't wait, Annie," he said, picking bits of stone from his palms. "We have to stop Henry, we don't have time. I'll go, you catch me up when you can."

"You don't know where you're going!" Anne said in alarm. "You don't know what's waiting for you down there."

"Just keep following the tunnel, right?" he shouted unconcernedly. "It doesn't matter, we're running out of time. I might have a chance to stop him." With that he turned and began jogging down the tunnel again, strapping on his arm bracers as he went. He could hear Anne yelling at him from above but he ignored her. It had been an unexpected shortcut, but this might be his chance to get there before Henry.

The scent of magic was getting continually stronger until it almost made his head ache and the electric pulse in the air was tingling around him like static. He knew he was getting close. The tunnel abruptly evened out, the change in depth catching him off guard and sending him to his knees before he quickly recovered. _Nearly there, nearly there..._

Something abruptly collided with August's chest, clotheslining him. His feet swept out from under him and he landed heavily on his back as he gasped for breath. Before he could recover someone knelt on his chest and grabbed a fistful of his hair. He couldn't escape from the blow that made his teeth rattle and threw his head back into the ground again. He tasted blood.

"August Anderson," the man said, seizing him by the hair again.

"You must be Ben," August replied. "Nice to finally meet you." Ben punched him again and August saw sparks as the back of his head collided with the stones.

"You know I promised myself the next time I saw you, I'd kill you," Ben said. He drew the knife from August's belt and pressed it experimentally against the younger man's throat. "But first you suffer. Anne is mine, Anderson, and I'm going to teach you what happens when you touch my things."

. . . . .

Henry was practically vibrating with eagerness as he raced down the flight of stairs that his men had uncovered under Mercer's guidance. That Anne Walker had been clever and her men had collapsed a great number of the entrances some time during the raid, but that had only slowed his plans, not stopped them. She couldn't have known that Henry had a man on the inside, a man with intimate details of their system.

The stairs turned into a landing and then the tunnel opened up into a wide corridor. At the end of the corridor he could see a golden glow and he grinned. _This is it._ He drew the dagger and ran the length of the corridor. Beyond the final arch it expanded into a cavernous dome, large enough to fit a cathedral in. There, in the centre on top of a rugged growth of rock, was an enormous structure of twisted, rippling glass, filled with the fury of a sandstorm. A track ran from where he stood to the sandglass, and all the rest was simply darkness, a fall into depths he couldn't even begin to fathom.

There was a scuffling sound from somewhere behind and to the left but Henry ignored it. It was undoubtedly just Mercer finishing his task. They weren't his concern. None of it mattered. In just a few minutes none of it will ever have happened. It would all be undone, wound backwards until everything that had ever happened was nothing more than a vague, distant dream.

He gripped the handle of the dagger and started down the path.

. . . . .

Anne had never run so hard in her life. She spent half her time sliding down the steep pathway, skinning her knees and legs as she fought to regain her footing on the slick stones. It took her three minutes to reach the area littered with broken stones where August had fallen through and she cursed. That meant she was three minutes behind him. Three minutes in which he could do something very stupid and she would lose him.

There was a stitch in her side but she kept going. Just a bit further. She could do it. They would stop Henry and then they'd escape from the world together.

_Nearly there, nearly there..._

. . . . .

Ben had never expected the cripple to put up such a fight. August had grabbed him by the neck and kicked up, flipping Ben clean over his head and onto the ground. Cursing, Ben stood up and observed August, who had dropped into a fighting stance in front of him. "You know, I am impressed," Ben said conversationally, adjusting his grip on the knife. "You're an even bigger idiot than I expected."

"And I have no idea what Annie ever saw in an asshole like you," August replied, a string of syrupy blood rolling out over his lip.

Lights flashed in Ben's vision and he snarled, lunging at August. The blind man sidestepped him and then brought an elbow down on his back, making Ben stumble. He wheeled around and kicked, and his boot connected with August's stomach. The curly-haired man gasped for breath and for that split second his defenses went down. Taking his chance, Ben grabbed August by the throat and shoved him up against the wall. He pinned him there with one arm and his other hand held the point of the knife against August's stomach.

"I promised I would kill you, August Anderson, and I'm going to," Ben said venomously. August was clawing at his arm, trying to get some purchase to pry him away, but the lack of oxygen was starting to wear on him. His eyes rolled upward as he gasped frantically for breath. _This is it._ "This is for Annie."

Ben drew the knife back, lining it up so it would cause the slowest, most painful death possible, and then-

. . . . .

The tunnel levelled out into a large corridor but the sight that met her made Anne's racing heart suddenly stop cold in her chest. August was pinned against the left hand wall, his feet up off the ground. His hands clawed at the arm that held him in place and his face was going red with the effort of trying to breathe around the obstruction.

And the man holding him there, pressing a knife against his stomach, was the man she thought she would never see again. The man who had stolen her heart and then left it behind with nothing more than a casual note. Ben.

Her heart ached as painfully as it had the morning she had woken up alone in their bed. She faltered, her voice catching in her throat. It was Ben. Her Ben. Memories washed over her, pressing down on her and stealing her breath the way the waterfall had done. Days on the coast, laying together in the hot sand; mountain climbs; swimming naked together in the lake where they'd first met; nights spent tangled up in gold-threaded sheets.

"I promised I would kill you, August Anderson." Ben's voice carried across the chamber but it wasn't the same voice she was used to. Instead of warmth and affection and dry humour she heard rage and animosity and blood-lust. "And I'm going to. This is for Annie."

Ben pulled back the knife and Anne acted on instinct. She drew the gun that August had given her in Conrad's tent, pointed it at the man she'd once loved who was about to kill the man she did love, and pulled the trigger.

. . . . .

Pain erupted in his chest and Ben coughed, spraying the other man with blood. The knife fell from his grasp and he staggered back a step as his brain tried to process the sudden overwhelming pain. He looked down at his shirt and stared in fascination at the scarlet stain that was spreading outward like a flower in bloom.

His eyes landed on August, who was on his knees gasping for air, and the fire consumed him again. He leaned down to pick up the knife but another shot struck his stomach and he fumbled back. He was under the archway that led to the sandglass chamber and he could feel the rush of air pressing against his back. Looking up, his eyes landed on her.

"Anne," he said, blood dripping down his chin. She was standing at the foot of the stairs, holding a gun level with his chest, and there was a fierce expression on her face. A grin crept over him at the sight of her. His beautiful, glorious Anne. She had come back to him. "Anne."

"It's Annie," she spat and pulled the trigger again. The impact in his chest made Ben stagger backward and suddenly there was nothing beneath his feet. Vertigo swept over him as he pitched back into the open air. The world rushed away into darkness and his scream echoed back to him off the stone in a symphony of doomed voices.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Six, The Sandglass

AN: Holy crap guys, this is seriously almost over! I never thought we'd actually make it to the end, honestly. I think we've got two, maybe three chapters if I can stretch it, and then it's over.

Thanks to all of you who are still reading after all this time, and to the surprising amount of newcomers that've joined up recently. You're bloody fantastic, all of you.

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><p><span><strong>Chapter Twenty-Six<strong>

August was slumped over on his hands and knees, his chest and neck aching as he struggled to even out his frenetic breathing. He couldn't even summon the energy to spare a glance as he heard Ben Mercer's shouts fading away down below them. A hand landed on his back and the next thing he knew a gentle touch was brushing his hair back from his forehead. "God, Auggie, are you okay?"

He took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. His bruised neck throbbed at the movement and he fought back a groan. He'd been nearly choked to death twice before, but he'd never gotten so close as that. It took a few more deep inhales before he was under control enough to lift his head. "Annie - Ben - is he-?"

"He's gone," she said, rubbing a soothing pattern across his spine as he fought against his own rebelling lungs.

August frowned and his unfocused gaze flicked up toward the sound of her voice. "You - okay?"

"I'm fine," she said but he could hear the repressed emotion in her voice. She surprised him by touching his cheek gently. "Are _you_ okay? I thought you were going to die."

August tilted his head into her palm and smiled. "Not yet - princess," he answered affectionately. "Can't get rid - me that easy." He pressed his eyes shut and forced himself to focus on evening out his breathing. One-two-three in, one-two-three out. It was a distant grating noise that made his eyes snap open. "Henry."

"Let's go," Anne said and her tone had become steely determination again. She helped him to stand and when he swayed on his feet she took his arm. "Be careful, the path over to the main track is narrow and it's a long drop." She led him under the archway and along the thin strip of crumbling rock.

August could feel the moment they entered the sandglass chamber, the way the air pressure expanded around them. The scent of magic was infinitely stronger here and there was an electric current, like static but more potent, to the very air he breathed that made his every nerve ending tingle. There was such a pull around the sandglass that it almost felt like he could see it, its power stretching up and down into the dark infinity that surrounded them.

"He's there," Anne said in a panicked voice, speeding up her steps. "Halfway to the sandglass already."

"Henry!" August bellowed. They had reached the wider main pathway and they both immediately broke into a sprint. "Henry, don't do this."

"It's too late, August," Henry shouted back. "I've already won."

August let go of Anne's hand and pushed himself harder, racing ahead of her. He caught up to his uncle just before he'd reached the sandglass and he tackled the other man to the ground. His head snapped back as Henry hit him in the face with the hilt of the dagger, using his distraction to shove August off him.

"It's over, August," Henry said, standing up and beginning the climb up the rocky outcropping that led up to the sandglass. "I never could understand why my brother thought it was a good idea to bring home a stray. I hope you liked your kennel, boy, because that's where you'll stay when this is all over."

"Please, Henry, you don't know what you're doing," August said, scrambling up and following. Henry kicked out and caught his shoulder, knocking August away from the rocks. He barely managed to catch the lip of the stone landing in time to stop himself from falling into the nothingness.

Anne charged passed him, scaling the rocks until she was right behind Henry. "If you pierce that glass-"

"What?" Henry said half-hysterically. "I'll unleash the wrath of the gods? Hell itself?" He snarled and swung out, hitting Anne backwards. She screamed as she tumbled away from the rocks. August threw out a hand and caught her forearm, his injured shoulders shrieking in protest as her weight tugged against them, nearly pulling them both away from the rock.

"Annie, grab the rocks," he grunted, fighting to keep his grip on both her and the coarse stones. The vibration from his arm braces was making it even harder, threatening to shake the very rocks from beneath his fingers.

"I can't, they're too far," she said and he could hear the fear that made her voice shake. Her arm slid in his palm and August tightened his grasp in horror. "Auggie, you've got to let go. Stop him."

"No," August said. He grit his teeth as his foot slipped and he desperately tried to regain his footing. "No, Annie, I'm not letting you go."

"You have to," she said, earnest through her tears. "It's the only way you can stop him." Above him August could hear Henry continuing his climb; he would reach the sandglass at any moment. "I wish we could've had more time," Anne said and then she let go of his arm.

"Annie, no!" August shouted. He clung to her but still he felt her slipping through his grasp, first her arm and then her wrist. For one split second he was clutching her fingers and then his palm was empty, reaching blindly into thin air. The vibration that signalled her proximity faded and then disappeared entirely. Annie's scream of terror bounced back up to him off the stone as she plummeted until all that was left of her were faint echoes in the darkness.

She was gone.

"It's over, August," Henry said from far above him.

"No," August growled. He crawled up the rocks, his hands bleeding as he made the climb over the ragged stones. Nothing but white hot rage was coursing through his veins and he reached Henry faster than he ever would've imagined possible. "No!" He heard and felt the movement as Henry swung his arm and August managed to catch his wrist just as the dagger tip pierced through the glass like it was nothing more than warm butter.

The world erupted in a blaze of colour; golds and yellows and browns swirling together in layers to create a three-dimensional world of motion. Suddenly August could see it all - the path, the sandglass, the distant walls of the cavern, the dagger with its hilt gem swung open. There in front of him, one hand clutching the dagger directly beside August's hand, was a man with thin hair and a furious snarl on his face.

"What are you doing?" the man hissed angrily and August placed the familiar voice to the face he'd never before seen.

"I'm stopping you," August replied. Sand was streaming through the open hilt of the dagger, scratching at his skin with a ferocious intensity. They fought for purchase, each trying to pry the others hand away from the only thing holding them in place amid the cascading vortex of sand.

Henry hauled back and punched August in the throat, making him double over as the bruises throbbed and he nearly swallowed his own tongue. In retaliation August kicked out and managed to connect with his uncle's knee. The older man howled in pain, slumping sideways against the sandglass as the joint gave out beneath him.

"You destroyed my family," August bellowed over the rush of the sandstorm. "My father, my brothers, my best friend, and the girl I love. You destroyed it all." Full of righteous fury and pain, August drew back his arm and punched his uncle in the face. Henry's grip loosened as he stumbled back, his eyes rolling up in his head, and then he was gone, whipped away on the wind until he disappeared into the storm.

August slid his hand down and managed to get his thumb over the opened end of the dagger. He fought against the tempest, forcing the button down until - _finally_ - it clicked into place. The storm shut off but his vision didn't fade. He watched in awe as the sands continued to spiral inside of their glass prison, images forming in them and then dissolving just as quickly.

A dark-haired man in a pressed suit, severe in expression but soft in the eyes. A man, younger, with light hair and a playful, eager smile. A third man, dark-skinned and scowling. A building of cubicles. A house with colonial-style shutters. An enormous building with stone towers and golden embellishments on the walls.

The images twisted in and out of each other, blending into moving pictures and scenes. Mundane scenes of people talking, laughing, shouting. Active scenes of men firing guns, fighting, running through thick foliage. He was confused by them all until he saw in one a face that matched the reflection on the rippling glass in front of him.

He was seeing himself._ His life._

All of a sudden it came together in his mind. The sandglass of time was taking him back, showing him every moment of his life in individual flashes. This was it. This was his chance to change it all. To _fix_ it.

"I just want it all to go back to how it was," he said aloud, desperate, hoping that whatever unknowable deity that had created this power could hear him. Then he placed his thumb over the ruby gemstone and pressed.

The sand in the glass began to slow, stop, and then all at once it span in the opposite direction. The images shifted, changed. In the sand whirling around him he could hear the echo of voices.

Henry snarling through his teeth as he plunged the dagger into the glass. Annie's scream. A dark-haired man with a hand at August's throat. Conrad stopping August from stabbing himself. A rushing waterfall. Jai's voice, his last words as he collapsed to the grass. An enormous cliff-face housing a cave. A small jet cutting through the air above the ocean. A crystal-like lake in the moonlight. Annie's laugh.

A tornado. An ancient computer with a screen full of code. A concrete bunker full of technology. A cramped bus full of tourists and old people. Cheap fast food on a plastic table. An old Cadillac rolling down an open stretch of highway. A derelict diner in the middle of the forest. A row of identical SUVs parked in a line, a courtyard fountain behind them. Stu's grunt of pain as he was shot. His father's grief-stricken face as he choked on the poisoned tequila.

Then finally a face surfaced over all the others, one made of pure golden beauty. There was a wreath of bright golden hair swirling around her narrow, pointed face. Her lips were pale, full, and curved up slightly on one side in a coy smile. Most of all though he saw her eyes, wide and honey-colored and sparkling with life.

"Annie," he breathed although he couldn't even hear himself over the rush of the sandstorm.

The image was fading, figure crumbling apart into the sand, and the world was darkening. He felt a familiar tug in his stomach and he realised what was happening just before it did. The feeling came back to his body as the blackness closed in around him, wrapping him in its recognisable embrace.

It took August a moment to make sense of his body again and when he did he was kneeling on a carpet, something heavy and solid between his legs. His right hand clutched the hilt of the dagger and with his left he felt around him. The object was a body; a man with a thick beard, no pulse, and a gaping knife wound in his chest. In the distance August could hear gunfire and shouts, and he could just faintly smell the grapefruit scent over the metallic tang of blood.

He was back to where it had all began, back to the very first moment he had laid hands on the dagger of time.

Standing up, August took off running down the corridor. Sooner than he remembered he collided with the dead end and his fingers fumbled for the catch. The section of wall swung open and August slipped through into the main hall. It startled him to realise he'd been below this room just an hour before, although technically it had never actually happened...

The shouts of fighting were growing closer and August turned toward the dagger chamber. He had to get to Anne and explain everything, put a stop to it all, before things got worse. He had to make it right, for all their sake's.

Barrelling through the double doors, August looked around like there was some chance he might see her. Might find that face he'd just seen for the first and last time. "Annie?" he called hopefully.

He heard a scuff of footsteps behind him and he turned toward it. "How do you know my name?" Anne asked suspiciously.

"I don't have time to explain that right now," August said quickly. "But I need you to trust me. This attack is wrong. We were given false information by someone who's betrayed our family. He's searching for this," he held up the dagger, "but we can't let him get his hands on it. I know this all sounds completely insane but you have to trust me."

Anne grabbed the dagger from his hand. "You raided my home, killed my courier, stole the most precious artefact in this building. Why should I trust you?"

"Because..." August took a step closer to her, trying to convey everything that he was feeling through his eyes, "Because before I pushed that button on the hilt a few minutes ago, you trusted me with your life."

"You-" He could hear Anne turning the blade over in her hands and she moved closer. "You've used the-"

The doors burst open and August heard a handful of men streaming into the room. He realised what the scene must look like: August unarmed and the wild priestess holding a dagger between them. The click of a safety going off startled him and he moved on instinct. "Annie, look out!" He stepped forward and turned, placing her body behind his, just as the gun went off.

The bullet struck him in the collar and the force of it threw him backwards. His head collided with the ground and lights flashed behind his eyes, combining with the blinding pain that was shooting out from his shoulder. Everything was swimming around him, his hearing fading in and out of focus, and the last thing he was aware of were his brothers' voices shouting his name before the darkness dragged him under.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Seven, The Final Showdown

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Oddly enough it wasn't the pain that woke him but the motion. A strange rolling hum, vibrating slightly but with the push of velocity. It was familiar but made absolutely no sense to his subconscious. He clawed his way up through the grogginess until the pain finally hit him; a searing, throbbing burn in the vicinity of his left collarbone. A groan broke free of his lips.

Suddenly there was a hand on his good shoulder. "Augs, you awake?" August groaned again as the pain in his head joined up with the pain from his shoulder. "Guys, he's awake. Jesus, you scared us. What the hell were you thinking?"

August frowned, trying to place the voice of the man kneeling beside him. "Con?"

"Yeah buddy, welcome back," Conrad said, his voice relieved and amused. Behind him he could hear the movement of others but his head was swimming too much to focus on them yet. August struggled to sit up and Conrad put an arm around his back, easing him into a sitting position. "Careful, you took a bullet in the shoulder. God, I thought I'd killed you."

"You shot me?" August asked in confusion, trying to scrape up memories through the haze in his head. At the same time he finally placed the sensation that had woken him; he was in a plane.

"Wasn't aiming for you," Conrad said. "I was aiming for the woman that pulled a knife on you."

"A knife?" And then it all came rushing back to him in a blur; the dagger, the sandglass, his uncle, Annie. "Where is she?" August asked immediately.

"Who?" Conrad asked, stopping him as he tried to get up. "What are you on about?"

"Annie," August said, shoving his brother's arm out of the way and forcing himself onto his feet despite the pain in his shoulder. "The priestess. Where is she?"

"She's at the back of the cabin," Conrad said uncertainly, his hands hovering near August's body, ready to catch him if he stumbled. "We're bringing her back to DC with us for questioning."

"And the dagger?" August pressed. "Where's the dagger?"

"The one she pulled on you? I've got it in my bag up front," Conrad said. "Augs, what's going on?"

August swallowed back a wave of nausea as the pain in his shoulder surfaced again. They'd obviously gotten the bullet out but judging by how badly it hurt they hadn't gotten him any painkillers yet. As much as it sucked, he was kind of grateful; he needed his head clear. Gripping Conrad by the shoulder with his only working arm, August squared off with his brother. "Con, I need you to listen to me very carefully. This whole thing was a set-up."

"What's he talking about?" Jai asked from behind Conrad.

"August, perhaps you should lie down. You're not looking well."

August's expression hardened and he felt himself bristle. "Henry."

"Uncle Henry's right," Conrad said, his hand settling on August's chest. "You should at least sit down."

"No, Con, listen," August insisted. "The raid was all a set-up. There are no weapons, they aren't terrorists. It was all for that dagger."

Henry chuckled dryly. "Someone's getting a bit delirious," he said. "The pain must be getting to him. Now that he's awake, we should get him some painkillers. Jai, would you-"

"I'm not delirious," August countered, glaring viciously in his uncle's direction. "Conrad, before we left on this mission, Dad pulled you aside and told you something," he said, grabbing his brother's shoulder more tightly as he swayed on his feet. "He told you that a good leader listens to his council but follows his heart."

"We were alone when he said that," Conrad said in awe. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I'm asking you to do that now," August plowed on, ignoring the question. "Don't think about the facts and the intel, just think about how you feel. And deep down you know there's something off about all of this."

There was a long, drawn-out silence, and August could hear Conrad scuffing his toe against the floor, his characteristic tell of anxiety. August waited on bated breath and he could tell that the others were as well, wondering just what Conrad would think of his younger brother's current bout of insane rambling. Finally Conrad turned to their uncle and said, "Your contacts, the asset that provided the information on this, I need to speak with him. I need to hear the information myself. He will tell us the truth."

"Assets are confidential," Henry said. "It's my responsibility to protect them and their anonymity."

"And we just raided a religious facility on their word," Conrad rebutted. "I want to see them at Langley when we land with proof of their information. We need to be able to show Dad that we had actionable evidence for this, and I wouldn't mind seeing it myself."

"If that's what you'd like," Henry said, his voice clipped. He turned his back and pulled out his mobile.

"August, I-" Conrad started but another noise caught August's attention. A familiar scraping whisper of metal against leather.

"Down!" August shouted and he tackled Conrad to the ground, the knife slicing through the air where his brother's neck had been only seconds before. Henry cursed bitterly as both of the other Andersons made noises of surprise. Somewhere near the back of the cabin, Anne muffled a scream.

August couldn't focus through the blaze of pain in his shoulder from where he'd collided with his brother's chest, but above him he could hear fighting. He rolled onto his back and let the waves of pain, pulses of deep red light, roll through his body. The other three Andersons were scrabbling, the fighting interspersed with noises of pain and angry growls. August shoved the agony from his shoulder away and tried to follow the motions from above.

Grunt - Swing - Staggered sidestep - Lunge - Jai yelped as he fell, hitting something hard on his way to the floor - Conrad growled - Shuffled steps - Henry snarled - Jai hadn't gotten back up -

Gritting his teeth, August awkwardly shoved himself to his feet. He drew a knife from his boot with his good hand and then listened to the two men fighting, planning his chance. Sidestep - shuffle - lunge - twist - August jumped forward, stabbing with the pocketknife, and he was rewarded when he felt the blade sink into flesh.

Conrad used the distraction to grab Henry by the arm and twist him, wrenching his arm up behind his back. Henry winced and his legs buckled, his knees hitting the ground. The knife slid out as he fell and August moved the point up to his uncle's throat. "I should do it," August said through clenched teeth. "You deserve it for everything you've done, for turning your back on your family the way you have."

"So do it," Henry said menacingly. "Prove once and for all that you're still the same rabid dog that Arthur brought in off the street."

"No," August said, tucking the knife back into the sheath in his boot. "No, you don't deserve death. You deserve worse, you deserve to be held _accountable_."

"And don't talk about my brother like that," Conrad said. There was a heavy thunk - metal on skull - and then Henry slumped. "Jai, you okay?" Jai groaned loudly. "Okay, you guys help me secure Uncle. Dad can deal with him when we get home."

The blood suddenly rushed from August's head and he staggered, hitting one of the seats before crumpling to the floor. "August!" His heart was pounding in his ears and the pain in his shoulder had redoubled, making his breath catch in his throat. "Augs, Jesus, your shoulder's bleeding again."

"I've been better," he gasped out, clutching his arm to keep it steady. Every breath sent another spasm of pain through his shoulder and he couldn't focus. The world was starting to dissolve in and out of focus, the sounds echoing and distant.

"C'mon we need to get you laid down," Conrad said, putting an arm around August's shoulders. He eased his little brother down onto the aisle floor, bunching up his jacket for August to use as a pillow. "You look like shit."

August's laugh faded into a moan as it jostled his shoulder. "Thanks," he murmured.

"Just relax, buddy," Conrad said. He stood up and walked away, and August tried to focus on steadying his shallow breathing. It was a few minutes - or perhaps only seconds, August couldn't be sure - later when Conrad came back and knelt beside him again. "Alright, I got morphine."

"But Henry-" August started but Conrad cut him off by sticking him with a needle.

"We've got it from here," Conrad said, pressing a ball of cotton into the crook of August's elbow. "You did good, Augs. I have no idea how you figured it out, but you saved my life back there. Get some rest. When you wake up, we'll be home."

A pleasant fogginess was creeping over him and August sighed, leaning his head back into his brother's folded jacket. The throbbing in his shoulder was softening, blurring around the edges. Henry was taken care of and the dagger was safely out of his reach. He only had one more thing he was concerned about.

"Annie," he said, grabbing his brother's arm weakly. "She okay?"

"The priestess? Yeah, she's fine," Conrad said. "She was well out of the way of the fight."

"Trust her," August said. "She had nothin' to do with it. Don' - don' hurt her."

"Alright, okay Aug, I'll keep an eye on her," Conrad said. "And when this is all over you can explain this whole thing to us and we'll get it sorted. Just - rest now. You're white as a sheet and I can't get your shoulder to stop bleeding."

"Yeah, rest," August agreed and he relaxed back against the floor again, his hand dropping from his brother's arm. The heaviness swept over him, dragging his eyelids down, and moments later he was asleep.

. . . . .

"He's detained."

"Good. I'll deal with it once he wakes up."

_Beep beep beep..._

"How's he doing?"

"Better. Doc says there was some moderate muscle damage though."

_Beep beep beep..._

"It's my fault. I shouldn't have pulled the trigger so fast. And then he tackled me out of the way when Henry tried to kill me."

"You couldn't have known. None of us did."

_Beep beep beep..._

August's head was pounding as he tried to focus on the swirling noises around him. The pain in his shoulder that he'd felt before he'd gone to sleep was back and it had joined forces with his headache. There was a low-laying level of nausea curling in his stomach and all in all he wanted nothing more than to slip back into the comforting black void he'd just left.

Unfortunately the voices and that damn persistent beeping were dragging him slowly to consciousness and he was powerless to fight. He had woken up just enough that the anxiety of before had crawled to the surface and he felt his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't remember why he was upset, but there was something going on, something dangerous, and he needed to stop it.

"Whoa, his heart's spiking," the second voice said and the deep voice was suffused with worry. "August, can you hear me? You need to calm down."

August frowned. He knew that voice, now that he thought about it. He knew them both, but this voice - this voice was security and comfort. This voice was good. And if it was telling him that he was safe, that he should be calm, then he would listen. August let out a breath through his nose and the beeping above his head slowed, easing the ache in his head.

"That'a boy," the voice said. A heavy weight settled on August's good shoulder - a hand, he realised. A hand, and the thumb was rubbing a soft, sweeping pattern over his collarbone. "You waking up?"

"Dad?" August's voice caught in his throat so the word came out as a hoarse gasp and he grimaced as it pulled at his dry throat.

"Yeah, it's me August," the voice answered and August felt himself relax under his touch. How many years ago had it been the last time he'd woken up like this, with the pain of a gunshot wound and residual panic and Arthur Anderson telling him to calm down? The thought made the corner of his lips twitch.

"Welcome back, baby brother," the first voice said. "Again."

"Con," August said. "You're - okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Conrad said. "Thanks to you. You saved my life up there."

The details were coming back to him and August scowled. "Henry?"

"He's taken care of," Arthur said flatly. "We've got him detained for trying to kill Conrad, but we need to know why and he's not telling. August, if you know something, you need to tell us."

August nodded and then winced as it made his head pound worse. "Annie first," he said. "Is she okay?"

"Ms. Walker?" Arthur asked. "Yes, we've got her in a holding room but she's being taken care of. She's quite an interesting character." He paused and then added, "She seems quite convinced that we should trust your word, although she won't give us a reason for her unerring faith in a man whose name she does not even know. Especially when that man led the raid on her home."

"Henry is a traitor," August said. He tried to sit up but the pain in his shoulder kept him in place.

"Easy there," Arthur said. There was a mechanical whirring and August felt the bed underneath him conforming, reshaping so he was sitting reclined. "That's a serious allegation, August. Do you have some proof of that?"

"Mercer," August said. "Ben Mercer. He's a member of the Black Hand. Henry has been using them for years to run black ops missions off the books. Find him, he'll tell you everything."

"That's impossible," Conrad interjected. "The Black Hand was disbanded ages ago."

"Let him talk, Conrad," Arthur said passively. "August, go on."

August cleared his throat before continuing. "Henry came to us in Colombo and fed us false intel so we'd raid that monastery. There's something there that he wants. I don't know if it's a person or an artefact, but there's something. He used us to get in there."

"Conrad, do you agree with him?" Arthur asked.

"There's definitely something strange going on," Conrad said thoughtfully. "Uncle was quite insistent that we take that monastery through whatever means possible. And when I asked that he provide proof, that he bring forward the assets who'd provided the information, that's when he tried to kill me. I definitely think the place is more to him than just a job."

"Very well," Arthur said. "I will find the records on this Mercer. I do think I recognise the name from other work. If it turns up anything we will move forward with the investigation. Until then, August, I think you need to rest and recover. Conrad, will you send the nurse in with some painkillers." Conrad must've nodded his consent because a moment later his footsteps receded from the room.

"Dad?" August asked, holding out his right hand blindly. Arthur took it, both of his thick heavy hands closing around August's narrow, nimble one.

"You gave us a real scare, Augs," Arthur said and his professional demeanour had dropped. He wasn't Arthur Anderson, DNI, anymore. He was Arthur Anderson, father. "You really did a number on that shoulder, you nearly bled out on the ride home. We almost thought we were going to lose you for a bit."

"Not the first time I've been shot," August said with a faint smirk.

Arthur chuckled. "No, and you scared me just as much then too. Why do you have to be so damn brave, boy?"

"Learned from the best," August replied, squeezing his father's hand. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back into the pillow, listening as the light, tapping steps of the nurse entered the room. She murmured a quick "sir" to Arthur before leaving again. Almost immediately August could feel the morphine taking effect, blurring his thoughts around the edges.

He couldn't believe that he was really there, sitting beside his father again. After spending nearly two weeks racing around the world in an attempt to avenge his father's death, he was back and safe and alive. He hadn't lost his family after all. "Glad you're okay, Dad," August said, his words already beginning to slur.

Arthur laughed. "Of course I'm okay," he said. "I'm not the one who was jumping in front of bullets."

"Well just, have your bottle of Patron checked before you drink anymore," August said. "Just in case." And then he sighed and fell asleep to the sound of his father's perplexed laugh.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Eight, The End

AN: Holy hell guys, this is it. We finally did it. The final chapter. I hope it doesn't disappoint and that it wraps everything up for you clearly enough. Thanks again for all of you that have been hanging on through my terrible hiatuses and for your continued support. Cheers!

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter Twenty-Eight<strong>

August sucked in a breath as the doctor moved his shoulder slightly while rewrapping the bandages around his collarbone. "Sorry," she said, slowing down her movements as she continued. "You did a good bit of damage to the pectoral muscle. At best you'll probably get about seventy-five percent of your mobility back in that shoulder."

"Which means no more field duty for me," August muttered bitterly, the fingers of his right hand typing out a string in binary code to combat his anxiety.

"Don't worry, Mr. Anderson," the doctor said, hooking down the end of the bandage. "The CIA always finds a new spot for its best. Alright, now your shirt." The doctor had to help August ease the tee-shirt over his head and then they carefully maneouvered his left arm into a sling. "Keep it still, and I mean _still_. Don't use it or you could damage the muscles even worse."

"And then I'll definitely be on desk duty for the rest of my life," August said.

"Exactly," the doctor agreed. "Alright, here's a bottle of Hydrocodone, take one every four hours or as the pain gets bad. And since you don't have both hands available, you are back to your good old fashioned cane." August tucked the proffered bottle into his pocket and then accepted the collapsed cane. "Okay, you're good to go. I believe your father said he's waiting for you in his office."

"Thanks, doc," August said and then slid down off the bed. He shook out the cane, tapping it against the floor to make sure it had locked into place, and then smiled. "Been a while since I've used this old thing."

"Still remember how?" the doctor asked in amusement.

August chuckled. "Like riding a bike. Not that I ever learned how to do that." He fell back into the rhythm as easily as breathing - sweep-step, sweep-step.

"Twenty feet, then make a right," the secretary at the front desk said as he made his way down the Langley medical centre corridor. "That'll put you on your way back to the main building."

"Thanks, Bea," he said. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realised it was probably worrisome that he knew the staff of the hospital so well. Maybe Anne was right; he _was_ a bit accident prone.

The walls of Langley welcomed him back like home, the familiar pathways and halls more well-known to him than any other place on earth. Even better than the flat he'd rented since moving out of his father's house, because he was hardly ever home between missions long enough to learn the lay of the place. As he wandered around the bullpen toward the lifts he heard the agents and analysts whispering about him. It was much the same talk as the first time they'd come back from raiding the monastery, only with the addition of jokes about him taking a bullet for a pretty lady.

The hall in front of the lifts was thankfully deserted and August waited impatiently for the lift to ding its arrival. When it finally showed up he stepped in and pressed the button for the top floor, where the offices of the most important members of the CIA were. He beat a staccato rhythm against the floor with his cane on the way up, almost comforted by the familiar old tool in his hand.

The lift stopped abruptly and it made him stagger against the wall, jarring his sore shoulder. August grimaced, thinking longingly of the pain pills in his pocket, but he had one more thing to do before he could go home and relax. He stepped out into the lobby and was greeted by his father's receptionist. "Ah, August, he's waiting for you inside," she said cheerfully. "Go on in."

"Thanks Melissa," he said before he slipped passed her and let himself into the large office. He was only three steps through the doorway before the smell hit him; grapefruit and magic. Annie.

"August, there you are," Arthur said, drawing August's attention to the other occupants of the room. He could hear his father standing up from behind his desk, and the shuffle of two other pairs of feet. Conrad and Jai, judging by the colognes. "What'd the doctor say?"

"Nothing great but I'll live," August said, finding his way to one of the open chairs and sitting down. He could hear Anne shifting in the other chair on his left and it sent another wave of grapefruit his way. "Annie," he said, nodding in her direction.

"You're blind," she said in surprise.

"Guilty," he agreed. "Nice tact, by the way."

Anne snorted. "Do not lecture me on tact after you invaded my home," she said waspishly. "And my name is Anne. Not Annie."

Arthur cleared his throat. "We have been negotiating a deal with Ms. Walker," he said. "In return for her company not raising charges against the CIA or bringing this to the attention of the UN, we will supplies the funds to compensate the damages of the raid. The secrets of her people will remain that. However until we know what it was that Henry wanted from that place, we need to keep her safe. Ms. Walker has agreed to become an asset in this matter but she needs a handler."

A lull followed the statement and August adjusted his grip on the cane. "Conrad has the most experience handling assets," he said.

"Yes, but," Arthur paused, and August could hear him rubbing his upper lip thoughtfully, a habit August had picked up at some point, "I was actually thinking that it was time for you to take on your first asset, August."

"Me?" August asked at the same time that Anne said, "Are you kidding me?"

"I assure you, Ms. Walker, August is one of the most skilled agents that the CIA has," Arthur said diplomatically. "Despite his obvious disability, he is the one who led the raid on your monastery. If he can do that, don't you think he can keep you safe the same way?"

August could feel Anne's eyes scrutinising his every detail, as if she was trying to see through him and into his soul. "Very well," she said in clipped tones. "I expect we will depart soon. I have a lot of work to do when I get back."

"You will leave just as soon as I've briefed August and his things have been gathered," Arthur said. "Jai, would you escort Ms. Walker to the break room? I'm sure she wouldn't mind a cup of coffee. And Conrad, would you go to August's flat and gather some of his things. We will send the rest along once he's settled.

They both murmured "yes, sir," and headed for the door, but August stood quickly. "Oh and Con," he said. "That dagger you took. I believe it is property of the monastery. We should return it, don't you think?"

"I'll have it put in with your things," Conrad said and then the door closed behind the three of them.

August sat back down and lifted his head to face Arthur, his expression hesitant. "Are you sure you want me for this?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Arthur replied immediately. "August, you've been ready for an asset for a while now, I've just been waiting for the right one. Somehow I feel like this is it. She may try to hide it, but I can tell that she wants to trust you. She will cooperate better with you than either of your brothers." He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk, and added, "Besides, it's clear that you understand this case more than any of us. I know there's something that you're keeping close to the vest on this one."

"Dad, it's not-"

Arthur laughed, cutting him off. "Relax, August, I trust you. I know you must have your reasons. Of all my sons - of all my agents, really - you've always been the one to follow his heart and do what he knows is right. Besides, it'll be a nice, easy security job while your shoulder heals."

A thought that had been lingering at the back of his mind surged to the surface again and August frowned. "I'm not going to be able to go back to field work, am I?"

"I honestly don't know," Arthur said with a sigh. "It depends on how well you heal, really. If you get most of the mobility back, you should be able to. We might have to be more selective about the missions you take though."

"And if I don't heal well enough?" August pressed. Arthur was silent and August could hear him twirling a pen in his fingers. "Dad, be straight with me, please."

"We'll find a place for you, Augs, no matter what." The response was vague but it was answer enough. He would be restricted to deskwork and tech jobs, perhaps a handler for one of his brothers at the most.

"What if I can convince Annie to stay on as an asset after this is all over?" August asked. "Her people have a network, people in different countries I think. If I can turn her, convince her to use her people for getting information, maybe I can stay on as her handler."

Arthur made an amused noise. "What is it about this girl? I've never seen you get attached so quickly before."

August smiled and shrugged his good shoulder. "Just thinking about my future."

. . . . .

Two hours later August and Anne were once again in the CIA jet above the Atlantic, this time on their way back to Sri Lanka. They were sitting on opposite sides of the cabin, neither of them speaking, although August wanted nothing more than to race across and pull her into his arms. Only he couldn't; she didn't know him. Not anymore. Not yet.

It was so difficult though, not to go to her. Less than twenty-four hours ago her hand had slipped through his and he'd listened to her petrified screams as she plummeted to a painful death. He had lost her. He had thought it had been forever. Yet there she was, only feet away from him, fidgeting with her bracelet and shifting in her seat. So vibrant. So alive.

"You're staring."

August snorted. "I would be if I could, maybe," he agreed.

"Right, blind," Anne said like she had genuinely forgotten. "You don't act like a blind guy, it's just hard to believe it."

"I give that impression," he said. "And sorry, for the not-staring."

Anne stood and he could hear the shuffle of her steps - she was barefoot - as she approached him. She took the seat in front of him and folded her legs up to her chest. "You knew my name," she said slowly, pensively. "When you showed up in my monastery, you knew my name. But it wasn't like you just _knew_."

"I don't follow," August said but he thought he knew what she was getting at.

"You called me Annie," she said, leaning forward. "The way you said it, it's like you knew me. Like we know each other. Except I've never seen you before in my life."

August tipped his head up, giving the impression of meeting her gaze. "At least not in this life, right?"

"You don't strike me as the type who believes in that sort of stuff," Anne said.

"But like you said, princess, you don't know anything about me," August pointed out, grinning. "We've never met before."

"Don't mock me, Agent Anderson," Anne said sharply.

"I wouldn't dream of it," August said, holding up his hands in surrender.

"And don't call me _princess_," she added. "I'm not a princess, you Neanderthal, I'm a priestess."

"But you're more than that, aren't you?" August said. "We both know that you're so much more than just the little priestess in the quiet monastery."

He could feel Anne scrutinising him intently and they lapsed into a steady quiet for several long minutes. Finally she scooted forward in the seat, her feet resting on the floor between his, and she said, "The dagger."

"Exactly," August agreed. He wasn't going to open up everything to her immediately. He needed her to ask, to want to know. If he just told her everything at once he would scare her away. Or maybe. It was hard to guess with someone who protected an artefact of time.

"You said that you used it," she continued. "Were you lying?"

"No."

"How is that possible?" she asked. "No one knows about the dagger or what it does. It only left my hand seconds before, and then you showed up with it telling me that you've used it and that before I trusted you. How?"

August smiled and propped his elbows on his knees, leaning in toward that intoxicating grapefruit scent. "Oh Annie dearest, you are in for the story of a lifetime."


End file.
